“From what?”
“From escaping.”
“You’re here to keep us from escaping from our own house?” Sam grimaced. “Why would we want to escape from our own house? Harry, you aren’t talking sense.”
Thurston frowned. “I’m guarding you,” he said stubbornly.
“For whom?”
“The police. I’ve been deputized.” “Deputized? By whom?”
“Bob Thorp.”
“When?”
“An hour.. . hour and a half.”
“Why does Bob want you to keep us in the house?”
“You know why,” Thurston said again.
“I’ve already told you that I don’t know.”
“You’ve done something.” “What have we done?” “Something wrong. Illegal.” “You know us better than that.” Thurston said nothing. “Don’t you, Harry?” Silence.
“What have we done?” Sam insisted. “I don’t know.”
“Bob didn’t tell you?”
“I’m just an emergency deputy.”
The shotgun looks nonetheless deadly for that, Paul thought.
“You don’t know what we’re supposed to have done?” Sam asked. “But you’re willing to shoot us if we try to leave?”
“Those are my orders.”
“How long have you known me?”
“Twenty years anyway.”
“And Jenny?”
“A long time.”
“You’re willing to kill old friends just because someone tells you to?” Sam asked. He was probing, trying to discover the breadth and depth of Salsbury’s control.
Thurston couldn’t answer that question. His eyes flicked from one to the other of them, and he shuffled his feet in the wet grass. He was exceedingly nervous, confused, and exasperated- but he was determined to do what the chief of police had asked of him.
Unable to take his eyes off the finger that was curled tightly around the shotgun trigger, unable to look at Sam when he spoke to him, Paul said, “We better get on with this. I think maybe you’ve pushed him far enough.”
“I think so too,” Sam said tensely. And then to Thurston: “I am the key.”
“I am the lock.”
“Lower the gun, Harry.” Thurston obeyed.
“Thank God,” Jenny said. “Come here, Harry.”
Thurston went to Sam.
“I’ll be damned,” Jenny said.
A perfect zombie, Paul thought. A regular little tin soldier.. A chill passed along his spine.
Sam said, “Harry, who really told you to come over here and keep a watch on us?”
“Bob Thorp.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“It was Bob Thorp,” Thurston said, perplexed.
“It wasn’t a man named Salsbury?”
“Salsbury? No.”
“Haven’t you met Salsbury?”
“No. Who are you talking about?” “Maybe he called himself Albert Deighton.” “Who did?” Thurston asked. “Salsbury.”
“I don’t know anyone named Deighton.”
Jenny, Rya, and Paul came down the rain-slick steps and joined the two men.
“Salsbury’s obviously working through Bob Thorp,” Jenny said, “one way or another.”
“What are you people talking about?” Thurston asked.
Sam said, “Harry, I am the key.”
“I am the lock.”
Taking a moment to study Thurston and to decide upon his approach, Sam finally said, “Harry, we are going for a walk up toward Hattie Lange’s house. You won’t try to stop us. Is that clear?”
“I won’t stop you.”
“You won’t shoot us.”
“No. Of course not.”
“You won’t call out or make trouble of any kind.”
Thurston shook his head: no.
“When we leave here,” Sam said, “you’ll go back to the lilac bush. You’ll forget that we ever came out of the house. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to forget that we’ve had this little talk. When the four of us leave here, I want you to forget every word that’s been spoken between us. Can you do that, Harry?”
“Sure. I’ll forget that we talked, that I saw any of you just now, all of it, like a you said.”
For a human robot, for an honest-to-God zombie, Paul thought, he seemed damned relaxed.
“You’ll think we’re still inside,” Sam said.
Thurston stared at the back of the general store.
“You’ll guard the place exactly as you were doing a few minutes ago,” Sam said.
“Guard it.. . That’s what Bob told me to do.”
“Then do it,” Sam said. “And forget you’ve seen us.”
Obediently, Harry Thurston returned to the man-size niche in the wall of lilac bushes. He stood with his feet apart. He held the shotgun in both hands, parallel to the ground, prepared to raise it and fire within a second if faced with a sudden threat.