Chapters (57)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Foreword
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Praise for Linwood Barclay
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
And now there was a second siren, a veritable symphony of distress. Hot on the tail of the fire engine was an ambulance, a boxy, white vehicle with an orange stripe and the words garrett island rescue emblazoned on the side.
It was beginning to look, however, as though the truck and the ambulance were going to have some difficulty coming up the drive and making it to the asphalt apron out front of the building, where the Arrival with Lisa Carver’s body in it now sat motionless, the door still firmly in the closed position.
The other Arrivals he’d seen starting up moments earlier were now lined up, side by side, at the road’s edge, blocking the entrance. Kyle did a quick count of how many of the cars had moved into position. Fifteen. A significant blockade.
The driver of the fire engine, close enough now to see he couldn’t make it up to the community center, blew his horn. And this was no ordinary horn. This was a from-the-depths-of-hell blast that Kyle could feel in his bones.
Anyone born with the common sense given to a spruce budworm would know that it would be smart to get the fuck out of the way. But there was not anyone in the Arrivals, and so, driverless and passengerless, they stood their ground.
The fire truck slowed to a stop about thirty feet from the Arrivals. The driver of the truck stuck his head out of the window and shouted at the cars.
“Get out of the way!”
The cars did not respond.
The driver brought his head back into the cab and was conferring with the firefighter sitting up front next to him. No doubt, Kyle conjectured, about how to deal with the situation. It must have felt foolish to yell at a collection of vehicles with no one in them. There had to be someone they could call, someone who could move those cars.
The ambulance had come to a stop, too, and the door on the passenger side opened. A paramedic got out and ran forward, going as far as the cab of the fire engine, and calling up to the driver. Words exchanged, arms waved.
Kyle wished he could hear what they were saying.
The paramedic, a fit-looking man in his thirties, pointed in the direction of the community center, proposing, Kyle surmised, that he get to the scene on foot if they couldn’t get their vehicles up there.
Now the driver was saying something to two of the firefighters sitting in the cab behind them. A nod or two. One of the two opened a door and climbed down from the cab and onto the road. Big guy, decked out in full firefighter regalia. Boots, helmet, fireproof jacket. Imagine having to wear all that stuff for work, Kyle thought. Not just unfashionable, but so goddamn heavy.