Duddits groaned； clutched his middle； and shivered all over。 'Ennie； I sick。 Duddits sick。'
Henry brushed Duddits's hairless brow； not liking the heat of the skin。 What came next？ Seizures； probably。 A big one might take Duds off in a hurry； given his weakened condition； and God knew that might be a mercy。 The best thing。 Still； it hurt to think of it。 Henry Devlin； the potential suicide。 And instead of him； the darkness had swallowed his friends； one by one。
'You hang in there； Duds。 Almost done now。' But he had an idea the toughest part might still be ahead。
Duddits's eyes opened again。 'Isser Ay … ot tuck。'
'What？' Owen asked。 'I didn't get that one。'
'He says Mr Gray got stuck；' Henry said； still brushing Duddit's brow。 Wishing there was hair to brush； and remembering when there had been。 Duddits's fine blond hair。 His crying had hurt them； had chopped into their heads like a dull blade； but how happy his laughter had made them … you heard Duddits Cavell laugh and for a little while you believed the old lies again： that life was good； that the lives of boys and men； girls and women； had some purpose。 That there was light as well as darkness。
'Why doesn't he just throw the goddam dog into the Reservoir？' Owen asked。 His voice cracked with weariness。 'Why does he feel he has to go all the way to this Shaft 12？ Is it just because the Russian woman did？'
'I don't think the Reservoir is sure enough for him；' Henry said。 'The Standpipe would have been good； but the aqueduct is even better。 It's an intestine sixty…five miles long。 And Shaft 12 is the throat。 Duddits； can we catch him？'
Duddits looked at him from his exhausted eyes； then shook his head。 Owen pounded his own thigh in frustration。 Duddits wet his lips。 Spoke two words in a hoarse near…whisper。 Owen heard them but couldn't make them out。
'What？ What did he say？'
〃'Only Jonesy。〃'
'What does that mean？ Only Jonesy what？'
'Only Jonesy can stop him； I guess。'
The Hummer skidded again and Henry grabbed hold of the seat。 A cold hand closed over his； Duddits was looking at him with desperate intensity。 He tried to speak and began coughing instead； gruesome wet hacking sounds。 Some of the blood that came out of his mouth was markedly lighter； frothy and almost pink。 Henry thought it was lung…blood。 And even while the coughs shook him； Duddits's grip on Henry's hand didn't loosen。
'Think it to me；' Henry said。 'Can you think it to me； Duds？' For a moment there was nothing but Duddits's cold hand closed over his； Duddits's eyes locked on his。 Then Duddits and the khaki interior of the Humvee； with its faded scent of surreptitiously smoked cigarettes； was gone。 In its place Henry sees a pay telephone … the old…fashioned kind with different…sized holes on top； one for quarters； one for dimes； one for nickels。 The rumble of men's voices and a clack…clacking sound； hauntingly familiar。 After a moment he realizes it's the sound of checkers on a checkerboard。 He's looking at the pay phone in Gosselin's； the one from which they called Duddits after the death of Richie Grenadeau。 Jonesy made the actual call； because he was the only one with a phone he could bill it to。 The others gathered around； all of them still with their jackets on because it was so cold in the store； even living in the big woods with trees all around him； Old Man Gosselin wouldn't throw an extra log in the stove； what a fuckin pisser。 There are two signs over the phone。 One reads PLEASE LIMIT ALL CALLS TO 5 MINS。
The other one…
There was a crunching bang。 Duddits was thrown against the back of Henry's seat and Henry was thrown into the dashboard。 Their hands parted。 Owen had skidded off the road and into the ditch。 Ahead of them； the Subaru's tracks； fading now under fresh cover； ran off into the thickening snow。
'Henry！ You all right？'
'Yeah。 Duds？ Okay？'
Duddits nodded； but the cheek he had struck was turning black with amazing speed。 Your Leukemia at Work for You。
Owen dropped the Humvee's transmission into low range and began to creep up the ditch。 The Humvee was canted at a severe angle … maybe thirty degrees … but it rolled pretty well once Owen got it moving。
'Fasten your seatbelt。 First fasten his； though。'
'He was trying to tell me s…'
'I don't give a damn what he was trying to tell you。 This time we were all right； next time we could roll three…sixty。 Fasten his belt； then your own。'
Henry did as he was told； thinking about the other sign over the pay phone。 What had it said？ Something about Jonesy。 Only Jonesy could stop Mr Gray now； that was the Gospel According to Duddits。
What had that other sign said？
4
Owen was forced to drop his speed to twenty。 It made him crazy to creep like this； but the wet snow was falling furiously now and visibility was back to nearly zero。
Just before the Subaru's tracks disappeared entirely they came to the car itself； nose…down in a water…carved ditch running across the road； passenger door open； rear wheels in the air。
Owen stepped on the emergency brake； drew his Glock； opened his door。 'Stay here； Henry；' he said； and got out。 He ran to the Subaru； bent low。
Henry unlatched his seatbelt and turned to Duddits； who was now sprawled against the back seat； gasping for breath； held in a sitting position only by the seatbelt。 One cheek was a waxy yellow； the other had been engulfed by spreading blood under the skin。 His nose was bleeding again； the wads of cotton sticking out of the nostrils soaked and dripping。
'Duds； I'm so sorry；' Henry said。 'This is a fuckarow。'
Duddits nodded； then raised his arms。 He could only hold them up for a few seconds； but to Henry his meaning seemed obvious enough。 Henry opened his door and got out just as Owen came running back； his Glock now stuffed in his belt。 The air was so thick with snow； the individual flakes so huge； that breathing had bee difficult。
'I thought I told you to stay where you were；' Owen said。
'I only want to get in the back with him。'
'Why？'
Henry spoke clearly enough； although his voice trembled slightly。 'Because he's dying；' he said。 'He's dying； but I think he has one more thing to tell me first。'
5
Owen looked in the rearview mirror； saw Henry with his arms around Duddits； saw they were both wearing their seatbelts； and fastened his own。
'Hold him good；' he said。 'There's going to be a hell of a jounce。
He reversed a hundred feet； put the Hummer in low； and drove forward； aiming for the spot between the abandoned Subaru and the righthand ditch。 The crack in the road looked a little narrower on that side。
There was indeed a hell of a jounce。 Owen's seatbelt locked and he saw Duddits's body leap in Henry's arms。 Duddits's bald head bounced against Henry's chest。 Then they were over the crack and once more rolling up East Street。 Owen could just make out the last phantom shapes of shoeprints on the now…white ribbon of the road。 Mr Gray was on foot and they were still rolling。 If they could catch up before the bastard cut into the woods…
But they didn't。
6
With a final tremendous effort； Duddits raised his head。 Now； Henry saw with dismay and horror； Duddits's eyes were also filling with blood。
Clack。 Clack…clack。 The dry chuckles of old men as someone acplishes the fabled triple jump。 The phone began to swim into his field of vision again。 And the signs over it。
'No； Duddits；' Henry whispered。 'Don't try。 Save your strength。'
But for what？ For what if not for this？
The sign on the right： PLEASE LIMIT ALL CALLS TO 5 MINS； Smells of tobacco； smells of woodsmoke； the old brine of pickles。 His friend's arms around him。
And the sign on the left： CALL JONESY NOW。
'Duddits 。 。 。' His voice floating in the darkness。 Darkness； his old friend。 'Duddits； I don't know how。'
Duddits's voice came to him a final time； very tired but calm： Quick； Henry … I can only hold on a little longer … you need to talk to him。
Henry picks the telephone's receiver out of its cradle。 Thinks absurdly （but isn't the whole situation absurd？） that he doesn't have any change not so much as a crying dime。 Holds the phone to his ear。
Roberta Cavell's voice es； impersonal and businesslike： 'Massachusetts General Hospital； how may I direct your call？'
7
Mr Gray flailed Jonesy's body along the path which ran up the east side of the Reservoir from the point where East Street ended； slipping； falling； grabbing branches； getting up again。 Jonesy's knees were lacerated； the pants tom open and soaked with blood。 His lungs were burning； his heart beating like a steam…hammer。 Yet the only thing that concerned him was Jonesy's hip； the one he'd broken in the accident。 It was a hot and throbbing ball； shooting pain all the way down the thigh to the knee； and up to the middle of his back along the road of his spine。 The weight of the dog made things worse。 It was still asleep； but the thing inside was wide awake； held in place only by Mr Gray's will。 Once； as he was rising to his feet； the hip locked up entirely and Mr Gray had to beat it repeatedly with Jonesy's gloved fist to make it let go again。 How