Firestarter(10)

"Keep your voice down," he said. "I want you to listen to me, Charlie. I think this is the most encouraging thing that's happened in some time." "Y-you do?" She looked at him in frank surprise.

"You say it got away from you," Andy said, forcing the words. "And it did. But not like before. It only got away a little bit. What happened was dangerous, honey, but... you might have set his hair on fire. Or his face."

She winced away from that thought, horrified. Andy turned her face gently back to his.

"It's a subconscious thing, and it always goes out at someone you don't like," he said. "But... you didn't really hurt that guy, Charlie. You..." But the rest of it was gone and only the pain was left. Was he still talking? For a moment he didn't even know.

Charlie could still feel that thing, that Bad Thing, racing around in her head, wanting to get away again, to do something else. It was like a small, vicious, and rather stupid animal. You had to let it out of its cage to do something like getting money from the phones... but it could do something else, something really bad.

(like mommy in the kitchen oh mom I'm sorry)

before you could get it back in again. But now it didn't matter. She wouldn't think about it now, she wouldn't think about

(the bandages my mommy has to wear bandages because i hurt her)

any of it now. Her father was what mattered now. He was slumped over in his TV chair, his face stamped with pain. He was paper white. His eyes were bloodshot.

Oh, Daddy, she thought, I'd trade even-Steven with you if I could. You've got something that hurts you but it never gets out of its cage. I've got something that doesn't hurt me at all but oh sometimes I get so scared-

"I've got the money," she said. "I didn't go to all the telephones, because the bag was getting heavy and I was afraid it would break." She looked at him anxiously. "Where can you go, Daddy? You have to lie down.".

Andy reached into the bag and slowly began to transfer the change in handfuls to the pockets of his corduroy coat. He wondered if this night would ever end. He wanted to do nothing more than grab another cab and go into town and check them into the first hotel or motel in sight... but he was afraid. Cabs could be traced. And he had a strong feeling that the people from the green car were still close behind.

He tried to put together what he knew about the Albany airport. First of all, it was the Albany County Airport; it really wasn't in Albany at all but in the town of Colonie. Shaker country-hadn't his grandfather told him once that this was Shaker country? Or had all of them died out now? What about highways? Turnpikes? The answer came slowly. There was a road... some sort of Way. Northway or Southway, he thought.

He opened his eyes and looked at Charlie. "Can you walk aways, kiddo? Couple of miles, maybe?" "Sure." She had slept and felt relatively fresh. "Can you?" That was the question. He didn't know. "I'm going to try," he said. "I think we ought to walk out to the main road and try to catch a ride, hon." "Hitchhike?" she asked.

He nodded. "Tracing a hitchhiker is pretty hard, Charlie. If we're lucky, we'll get a ride with someone who'll be in Buffalo by morning." And if we're not, we'll still be standing in the breakdown lane with our thumbs out when that green car comes rolling up.

"If you think it's okay," Charlie said doubtfully.

"Come on," he said, "help me."

Gigantic bolt of pain as he got to his feet. He swayed a little, closed his eyes, then opened them again. People looked surreal. Colours seemed too bright. A woman walked by on high heels, and every click on the airport tiles was the sound of a vault door being slammed.

"Daddy, are you sure you can?" Her voice was small and very scared.

Charlie. Only Charlie looked right.

"I think I can," he said. "Come on."

They left by a different door from the one they had entered, and the skycap who had noticed them getting out of the cab was busy unloading suitcases from the trunk of a car. He didn't see them go out.

"Which way, Daddy?" Charlie asked.

He looked both ways and saw the Northway, curving away below and to the right of the terminal building. How to get there, that was the question. There were roads everywhere-overpasses, underpasses. NO RIGHT TURN, STOP ON SIGNAL, KEEP LEFT, NO PARKING ANYTIME. Traffic signals flashing in the early-morning blackness like uneasy spirits.

"This way, I think," he said, and they walked the length of the terminal beside the feeder road that was lined with LOADING AND UNLOADING ONLY signs. The sidewalk ended at the end of the terminal. A large silver Mercedes swept by them indifferently, and the reflected glow of the overhead sodium arcs on its surface made him wince.

Charlie was looking at him questioningly.

Andy nodded. "Just keep as far over to the side as you can. Are you cold?"

"No, Daddy."

"Thank goodness it's a warm night. Your mother would-"

His mouth snapped shut over that.

The two of them walked off into darkness, the big man with the broad shoulders and the little girl in the red pants and the green blouse, holding his hand, almost seeming to lead him.

8

The green car showed up about fifteen minutes later and parked at the yellow curb. Two men got out, the same two who had chased Andy and Charlie to the cab back in Manhattan. The driver sat behind the wheel.