Stuart looked back over his shoulder. “Tell Franklin when I start talking, he should start bringing Timmy out of there. To the back. Where it isn’t conspicuous.”
“I think he already intends to bring Timmy out through the back.”
“Yeah,” Stuart said. “I do, too. Be careful. Don’t give them an excuse.”
In the crowd around him, people had started swaying, rhythmically and hypnotically. “Lock him up lock him up lock him up,” people were saying, but it was like a murmur, half indistinct, the mantra of hostility and the secret password of fear. Gregor edged through the thinning ranks of people inch by inch, second by second, barely breathing. Not many in the crowd had been willing to stand so close to the buildings that might catch them in an outbreak. That was fortunate. Stuart had gotten about a tenth of the way into the empty center of the circle without anybody following him.
Gregor got to Franklin Morrison and the others and told them what Stuart had in mind. Franklin Morrison said “damn fool idiot,” but didn’t go any farther, because Stuart was now at least two-tenths of the way into the center and there was no way any of them could stop him. Peter Callisher was sweating, in spite of the fact that it was below freezing. He had a hand around Amanda Ballard’s upper arm. Amanda Ballard was crying.
“Go,” Peter Callisher told her, nudging her in the direction of the building behind them. Gregor saw that there was an open window very close, probably opened by Lee or Peter or Franklin precisely for the purposes of escape. Amanda didn’t care.
“I’m not going to leave him out there,” she kept saying, over and over again. “I’m not just going to walk away and let them beat him up. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’re not going to let anyone beat him up,” Franklin Morrison said.
“Lock him up lock him up lock him up,” the crowd chanted, and then someone in the back screamed, “Stupid retard stupid retard stupid RE-TARD.”
Gregor broke away from the others and moved into the middle of the circle, much more quickly than Stuart was doing, because he was at the back and there weren’t many people who could follow him. He didn’t think there were many people who could see him. He got halfway to Timmy before Franklin even noticed he was gone. When Franklin called out for him to come back, Gregor ignored him.
Stuart had begun to move more quickly. He was now nearly half the way to the center of the circle, and Timmy had noticed him. Stuart motioned with his head for Timmy to look behind him and Timmy did, but his reaction wasn’t all that Gregor might have hoped. “Lock him up lock him up lock him up,” the crowd was saying. Timmy set his jaw and shouted back. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING SHE’S A LIAR.”
Gregor reached him, grabbed him by the coat and said, “I know you didn’t do anything, Timmy. You have to come with me. You have to get out of here.”
“You’re going to lock me up,” Timmy said stubbornly. “I’m not going to let you lock me up. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Lock him up lock him up lock him up,” the crowd said, and then that other voice, vile and high-pitched and not really human, cawing, “Stupid RETARD RETARD RETARD RETARD RETARD.”
Gregor got both hands around Timmy’s arms and tugged. “Come on,” he said. “Your friend Amanda is over there waiting, and she won’t leave without you. We’ve got to move.”
Timmy was now out of the center of the circle, not very far out but out. Gregor had managed to move him a little. Stuart Ketchum was occupying the center of the circle himself. Gregor saw him unzipping his jacket. He pulled on Timmy one more time. Then he saw Stuart’s hand rise in the air and said, “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
Rifles, apparently, weren’t the only kind of guns Stuart Ketchum had an interest in. What he had in his hand now was a small pistol. He was pointing it straight up into the air. Enough of the people in the crowd had seen it to cause another sea change in the mood. A lot of people were suddenly very, very uneasy. A lot of people were suddenly even more angry. “Don’t let him go,” they started to shout. “Don’t let him go. Don’t let him get away!”
Stuart Ketchum pulled the trigger. The sound that followed was quick and sharp and unmistakable. Gregor got a good grip on Timmy’s arm and pulled him the rest of the way to Amanda Ballard.
“Through the window,” Peter Callisher said, grabbing on to Timmy’s other arm and taking over. “Through the window right now. Let’s get out of here.”