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'What you do up here doesn't matter；' Henry said。 'The people you've got interned can't spread it； the weasels can't spread it； and the byrus can't spread itself。 If your guys folded their tents and just walked away right now； the environment would take care of itself and erase all this nonsense like a bad equation。 I think the grays showed up the way they did because they just can't fucking believe it。 I think it was a suicide mission with some gray version of your Mistuh Kurtz in charge。 They simply cannot conceptualize failure。 〃We always win；〃 they think。'
'How do you…'
'Then； at the last minute； Underhill … maybe at the last second one of them found a man who was remarkably different from all the others with whom the grays； the weasels； and the byrus had e in contact。 He's your Typhoid Mary。 And he's already out of the q…zone； rendering anything you do here meaningless。'
'Gary Jones。'
'Jonesy； right。'
'What makes him different？'
Little as he wanted to go into this part of it； Henry realized he had to give Underhill something。
'He and I and our two other friends … the ones who are dead … once knew someone who was very different。 A natural telepath； no byrus needed。 He did something to us。 If we'd gotten to know him when we were a little older； I don't think that would have been possible； but we met him when we were particularly 。 。 。 vulnerable； I suppose you'd say 。 。 。 to what he had。 And then； years later； something else happened to Jonesy； something that had nothing to do with 。 。 。 with this remarkable boy。'
But that wasn't the truth； Henry suspected； although Jonesy had been hit and almost killed in Cambridge find Duddits had never to Henry's knowledge been south of Derry in his life； Duds had somehow been a part of Jonesy's final； crucial change。 A part of that； too。 He knew it。
'And I'm supposed to what？ Just believe all this？ Swallow it like cough…syrup？'
In the sweet…smelling darkness of the shed； Henry's lips spread in a humorless grin。 'Owen；' he said； 'you do believe it。 I'm a telepath； remember？ The baddest one in the jungle。 The question； though 。 。 。 the question is 。 。 。'
Henry asked the question with his mind。
7
Standing outside the pound fence by the back wall of the old storage shed； freezing his balls off； filter…mask pulled down around his neck so he could smoke a series of cigarettes he did not want （he'd gotten a fresh pack in the PX）； Owen would have said he never felt less like laughing in his life 。 。 。 but when the man in the shed responded to his eminently reasonable question with such impatient directness … you do believe it 。 。 。 I'm a telepath； remember？ … a laugh was surprised out of him； nevertheless。 Kurtz had said that if the telepathy became permanent and were to spread； society as they knew it would fall down。 Owen had grasped the concept； but now he understood it on a gut level； too。
'The question； though 。 。 。 the question is 。 。 。'
What are we going to do about it？
Tired as he was； Owen could see only one answer to that question。 'We have to go after Jones； I suppose。 Will it do any good？ Do we have time？'
'I think we might。 Just。'
Owen tried to read what was behind Henry's response with his own lesser powers and could not。 Yet he was positive that most of what the man had told him was true。 Either that or he believes it's true； Owen thought。 God knows I want to believe it's true。 Any excuse to get out of here before the butchery starts。
'No；' Henry said； and for the first time Owen thought he sounded upset； not entirely sure of himself。 'No butchery。 Kurtz isn't going to kill somewhere between two hundred and eight hundred people。 People who ultimately can't influence this business one way or the other。 They're just … Christ； they're just innocent bystanders！'
Owen wasn't entirely surprised to find himself rather enjoying his new friend's disfort； God knew Henry had disfited him。 'What do you suggest？ Bearing in mind that you yourself said that only your pal Jonesy matters。'
'Yes； but 。 。 。'
Floundering。 Henry's mental voice was a little surer； but only a little。 I didn't mean we'd walk away and let them die。
'We won't be walking anywhere；' Owen said。 'We'll be running like a couple of rats in a corncrib。' He dropped his third cigarette after a final token puff and watched the wind carry it away。 Beyond the shed； curtains of snow rippled across the empty corral； building up huge drifts against the side of the barn。 Trying to go anywhere in this would be madness。 It'll have to be a Sno…Cat； at least to start with； Owen thought。 By midnight； even a four…wheel drive might not be much good。 Not in this。
'Kill Kurtz；' Henry said。 'That's the answer。 It'll make it easier for us to get away with no one to give orders； and it'll put the 。 。 。 the biological cleansing on hold。'
Owen laughed dryly。 'You make it sound so easy；' he said。 'Double…oh…Underhill； license to kill。'
He lit a fourth cigarette； cupping his hands around the lighter and the end of the smoke。 In spite of his gloves； his fingers were numb。 We better e to some conclusions pretty quick； he thought。 Before I freeze to death。
'What's the big deal about it？' Henry asked； but he knew what the big deal was； all right； Owen could sense （and half…hear） him trying not to see it； not wanting things to be worse than they already were。 'Just walk in there and pop him。'
'Wouldn't work。' Owen sent Henry a brief image： Freddy Johnson （and other members of the so…called Imperial Valley cadre） keeping an eye on Kurtz's Winnebago。 'Also； he's got the place wired for sound。 If anything happens； the hard boys e running。 Maybe I could get him。 Probably not； because he covers himself as thoroughly as any Colombian cocaine jefe； especially when he's on active duty； but maybe。 I like to think I'm not bad myself。 But it would be a suicide mission。 If he's recruited Freddy Johnson； then he's probably got Kate Gallagher and Marvell Richardson 。 。 。 Carl Friedman 。 。 。 Jocelyn McAvoy。 Tough boys and tough girls； Henry。 I kill Kurtz； they kill me； the brass running this show from under Cheyenne Mountain send out a new cleaner； some Kurtz clone that'll pick up where Kurtz left off。 Or maybe they just elect Kate to the job。 God knows she's crazy enough。 The people in the barn might get twelve additional hours to stew in their own juice； but in the end they'll still burn。 The only difference is that； instead of getting a chance to go charging gaily through the snowstorm with me； handsome； you'll burn with the rest of them。 Your pal； meanwhile … this guy Jonesy … he'll be off to 。 。 。 to where？'
'That's something it might be prudent for me to keep to myself； for the time being。'
Owen nonetheless probed for it with such telepathy as he possessed。 For a moment he caught a blurred and perplexing vision … a tall white building in the snow； cylindrical； like a barn silo and then it was gone； replaced by the image of a white horse that looked almost like a unicorn running past a sign。 On the sign were red letters reading BANBURY CROSS under a pointing arrow。
He grunted in amusement and exasperation。 'You're jam