The silence came back for a time, and Billie wondered which was worse, it or the bitching. Because when it grew quiet they could hear the other sounds from outside. The barely audible cry of a baby—probably from the other basement, where most of the children had been put. The distant pop of gunfire. Running feet. Nails clicking against the small access window in the rear wall. The wiggling of the door handle. The voices, man and child alike. They spoke in furtive whispers, wondering who might be in there, occasionally being right. And they would plead to be let in. The door muffled some of it but not enough. Still, no one moved to answer them. Not even Ted, when Doreen Moody’s sultry voice begged him. The knuckles whitened on the shotgun across his lap and his eyes moistened in the dim glow of the overhead bulbs, but he did not respond. And finally the voices went away.

There was more gunfire in the distance, like firecrackers on the Fourth, and each flayed Billie’s nerves a little more. Oh, Chris. “Bart,” she said softly.

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Didn’t you bring a radio?”

“Yeah, in my backpack.”

“I think we need something to listen to.” He looked questioningly toward the door, but she just shrugged. “They already know we’re here. It can’t hurt.”

The teenager lifted the flap of the backpack beside him and eased out a miniature boom box, then extended the antenna and turned it on. The speaker crackled and then broke in on the fading lyrics of “In the Air Tonight.” The announcer for the FM station out of Bloomington came on, a soft deep voice suitably laid back for the time of night. “And that was, of course, Phil Collins, a man who can do no wrong in my book . . . well, other than ‘Sussudio,’ right? It’s one-twenty-five in the a.m. here at the Power, and the temperature’s bottomed out at a chilly forty-nine degrees, but it’s just a beautiful night out there, isn’t it? Just a wisp of fog and that big, bright moon up there, big as a basketball. This is the kinda night you just want to throw a blanket ’round your shoulders and go out on the porch with a hot cup of coffee and breath in that crisp, clean air. But hey, don’t forget to take the radio, huh? You wouldn’t want to forget us. The extended forecast says that nights will continue to be a little nippy on into the weekend, so if you have to be out after dark . . . take a jacket, okay? Now, from the request line, let’s jump back a few years with the Doobie Brothers. . . .”

The door handle jiggled again. Someone said something outside. But most of them listened to the music and were able to ignore it.