It's dying； Kurtz thought。 Either Freddy's system is killing it or the environment is。 Owen was right。 I'll be damned。
Not that it changed anything。 The line was still the line； and Owen had stepped over it。
'The plow guy；' Perlmutter said in his tired voice。
'What about the plow guy； buck？'
Only there was no need for Perlmutter to answer。 Up ahead； twinkling in the blowing snow； was a sign reading EXIT 32 … GRANDVIEW/GRANDVIEW STATION。 The plow suddenly sped up； raising its blade as it did so。 All at once the Humvee was running in slippery powder again； better than a foot of it。 The plowman didn't bother with his blinker； simply took the exit at fifty； yanking up a tall rooster…tail of snow in his wake。
'Follow him？' Freddy asked。 'I can run him down； boss！' Kurtz mastered a strong urge to tell Freddy to go ahead … they'd run the long…eyed Yankee son of a bitch to earth and teach him what happened to folks who crossed the line。 Give him a little dose of Owen Underhill's medicine。 Except the plow was bigger than the Hummer； a lot bigger； and who knew what might happen if they got into a game of bumper cars？
'Stay on the pike； laddie；' Kurtz said； settling back。 'Eyes on the prize。' Still； he watched the plow angling off into the frigid； windy morning with real regret。 He couldn't even hope the damn Yankee had caught a hot dose from Freddy and Archie Perlmutter； because the stuff didn't last。
They went on； speed dropping back to twenty in the drifts； but Kurtz guessed conditions would improve as they got farther south。 The storm was almost over。
'And congratulations；' he told Freddy。
'Huh？'
Kurtz patted him on the shoulder。 'You appear to be getting better。' He turned to Perlmutter。 'I don't know about you； laddie…buck。'
11
A hundred miles north of Kurtz's position and less than two miles from the junction of back roads where Henry had been taken； the new mander of the Imperial Valleys … a woman of severe good looks； in her late forties … stood beside a pine tree in a valley which had been code…named Clean Sweep One。 Clean Sweep One was； quite literally； a valley of death。 Piled along its length were heaps of tangled bodies； most wearing hunter orange。 There were over a hundred in all。 If the corpses had ID； it had been taped around their necks。 The majority of the dead were wearing their driver's licenses； but there were also Visa and Discover cards； Blue Cross cards； and hunting licenses。 One woman with a large black hole in her forehead had been tagged with her Blockbuster Video card。
Standing beside the largest pile of bodies； Kate Gallagher was finishing a rough tally before writing her second report。 In one hand she held a Palm Pilot puter； a tool that Adolf Eichmann； that famous accountant of the dead； would certainly have envied。 The Pilots hadn't worked earlier； but now most of the cool electronics gear seemed to be back on…line。
Kate wore earphones and a mike suspended in front of her mouth…and…nose mask。 Occasionally she would ask someone for clarification or give an order。 Kurtz had chosen a successor who was both enthusiastic and efficient。 Totting up the bodies here and elsewhere； Gallagher estimated that they had bagged at least sixty per cent of the escapees。 The John Q's had fought； which was certainly a surprise； but in the long run； most of them just weren't survivors。 It was as simple as that。
'Yo； Katie…Kate。'
Jocelyn McAvoy appeared through the trees at the south end of the valley； her hood pushed back； her short hair covered by a scarf of green silk； her burp…gun slung over her shoulder。 There was a splash of blood across the front of her parka。
'Scared you； didn't I？' she asked the new OIC。
'You might have raised my blood pressure a point or two。'
'Well； Quadrant Four is clear； maybe that'll lower it a little。' McAvoy's eyes sparkled。 'We got over forty。 Jackson has got hard numbers for you； and speaking of hard； right about now I could really use a hard…'
'Excuse me？ Ladies？'
They turned。 Emerging from the snow…covered brush at the north end of the valley was a group of half a dozen men and two women。 Most were wearing orange； but their leader was a squat tugboat of a man wearing a regulation Blue Group coverall under his parka。 He was also still wearing his transparent face…mask； although below his mouth there was a Ripley soul…patch which was definitely non…reg。 All of the newers had automatic weapons。
Gallagher and McAvoy had time to exchange a single wide…eyed； caught…with…our…pants…down look。 Then Jocelyn McAvoy went for her burp…gun and Kate Gallagher went for the Browning she had propped against the tree。 Neither of them made it。 The thunder of the guns was deafening。 McAvoy was thrown nearly twenty feet through the air。 One of her boots came off。
'That's for Larry！' one of the orange…clad women was screaming。 'That's for Larry； you bitches； that's for Larry！'
12
When the shooting was over； the squat man with the Ripley goatee assembled his group near the facedown corpse of Kate Gallagher； who had graduated ninth in her class at West Point before running afoul of the disease that was Kurtz。 The squat man had appropriated her gun； which was better than his own。
'I'm a firm believer in democracy；' he said； 'and you folks can do what you want； but I'm heading north now。 I don't know how long it'll take me to learn the words to 〃O Canada〃； but I'm going to find out。'
'I'm going with you；' one of the men said； and it quickly became apparent that they were all going with him。 Before they left the clearing the leader bent down and plucked the Palm Pilot out of a snowdrift。
'Always wanted one of these；' said Emil 'Dawg' Brodsky。 'I'm a sucker for the new technology。'
They left the valley of death from the direction they'd entered it； heading north。 From around them came isolated pops and bursts of gunfire； but for all practical purposes； Operation Clean Sweep was also over。
13
Mr Gray had mitted another murder and stolen another vehicle； this time a DPW plow。 Jonesy didn't see it happen。 Mr Gray； having apparently decided he couldn't get Jonesy out of his office （not； at least； until he could devote all his time and energy to the problem）； had decided to do the next best thing； which was to wall him off from the outside world。 Jonesy now thought he knew how Fortunato must have felt when Montresor bricked him up in the wine…cellar。
It happened not long after Mr Gray put the State Trooper's car back in the turnpike's southbound lane （there was just the one； at least for the time being； and that was treacherous）。 Jonesy was in a closet at the time； following up what seemed to him to be an absolutely brilliant idea。
Mr Gray had cut off his telephone service？ Okay； he would simply create a new form of munication； as he had created a thermostat to cool the place down when Mr Gray tried to force him out by overloading him with heat。 A fax machine would be just the thing； he decided。 And why not？ All the gadgets were symbolic； only visualizations to help him first focus and then exercise powers that had been in him for over twenty years。 Mr Gray had sensed those powers； and after his initial dismay had moved very efficiently to keep Jonesy from using them。 The trick was to keep finding ways around Mr Gray's roadblocks； just as Mr Gray himself kept finding ways to move south。
Jonesy closed his eyes and visualized a fax like the one in the History Department office； only he put it in the closet of his new office。 Then； feeling like Aladdin rubbing the magic lamp （only the number of wishes he was granted seemed infinite； as long as he didn't get carried away）； he also visualized a stack of paper and a Berol Black Beauty pencil lying beside it。 Then he went into the closet to see how he'd done。
Pretty well； it appeared at first glance 。 。 。 although the pencil was a tad eerie； brand…new and sharpened to a virgin point； but still gnawed all along the barrel。 Yet that was as it should be； wasn't it？ Beaver was the one who had used Black Beauty pencils； even way back in Witcham Street Grammar。 The rest of them had carried the more standard yellow Eberhard Fabers。
The fax looked perfect； sitting there on the floor beneath a dangle of empty coathangers and one jacket （the bright orange parka his mother had bought him for his first hunting trip； then made him promise … with his hand over his heart … to wear every single moment he was out of doors）； and it was humming in an encouraging way。
Disappointment set in when he knelt in front of it and read the message in the lighted window： GIVE UP JONESY E OUT。
He picked up the phone on the side of the machine and heard Mr Gray's recorded voice： 'Give up； Jonesy； e out。 Give up； Jonesy； e o…'
A series of violent bangs； almost as loud as thunderclaps； made him cry out and jump to his feet。 His first thought was that Mr Gray was using one of those SWAT squad door…busters； battering his way in。
It wasn't the door； though。 It was the window； and in some ways that was even worse。 Mr Gray had put industrial gray shutters steel； they looked like … across his window。 Now he wasn't just imprisoned；