“Have you seen my kids?” she asked, her voice frantic. “Any chance you’ve seen Katie and Archie? They’re not answering.”

“No, no, I haven’t. I’m almost to headquart—”

“No!” Sandra said. “You need to come here! To the community center. Are you in an actual car?”

“I’ve got a bike. But what’s happening here? I heard about the fire engine and—”

“It’s bad here,” Sandra told him. She lowered her voice. “Lisa Carver’s dead. At least one person from the fire department. Maybe others.”

Joe said nothing.

“Joe, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I just can’t believe all this. I can’t—I just can’t be—”

“I need you here. I’m thinking, if we can get into Lisa Carver’s laptop, maybe we can find a way to stop these cars dead.”

“Okay,” Joe said slowly.

“And of all the people I know, you understand computers better than anyone.”

“I don’t know, Sandra. I mean, there was a time when I was a techie, but it was years ago. They’ve been upgraded like crazy since I worked with them.”

“You’re all I got, Joe.”

“But—”

“Just come by here and see if you can hack your way in. It’s a long shot, I know, but right now, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Okay, I can try. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“And on the way, can you go by my house? See if the kids are there?” Her voice dropped to a whisper and began to crack. “I’m scared to death, Joe. I’m scared to death something has happened to them.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m on it. Hang tight. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

Thirty

Running into Discount Bonanza was like entering the heart of a great metropolis. Archie glanced upward at the countless aisles of metal shelves that soared toward the ceiling like skeletal skyscrapers.

At ground level, huge wooden skids were piled high with everything the average American consumer could ever possibly want. Industrial-sized jars of pickles, enough to garnish the annual output of a dozen McDonald’s. Packages with enough rolls of toilet paper to wipe the asses of every single person on Garrett Island, with enough left over to clean up the bums of half of Boston. Nobody came into Discount Bonanza expecting to buy a single tin of tuna. You left with a case of tuna, which then meant you also had to head down to aisle four and buy a bag stuffed with a minimum of five loaves of bread, all squishy and white, so you could make enough tuna sandwiches to last a lifetime.

The shelves above ground level were stacked with more skidloads of goods, shrink-wrapped in industrial-grade Saran Wrap.