He let them get about fifty feet farther along before he set out after them. The concourse ahead was a jumble of conflicting currents. Curiosity was pulling droves of the mindless toward the burning barn, while the security staff were doing their utmost to turn them back and to keep a channel open for the displaced animals and their handlers moving in the opposite direction to a series of corrals on the far side of the fairgrounds.

Beyond the radius of the fire’s visibility and primitive power of attraction, the threat of a downpour was persuading swarms of fairgoers to abandon the pedestrian concourses in favor of the exhibitor tents or their own cars. The reduced density was making it easier for Gurney to keep the trio in sight.

At the end of a massive thunderclap that reverberated through the valley, he realized his phone was ringing.

It was Hardwick. “You spot the fucker yet?”

“Maybe a possibility or two, nothing firm. What area have you covered so far?”

There was no answer.

“Jack?”

“Hold on a sec.”

As the seconds passed, Gurney found himself dividing his attention between the trio he was following and the giant video cube that dominated the center of the fairgrounds and provided an incessant country-music accompaniment to the nightmare in progress. As he listened for Hardwick’s return to the phone, he couldn’t quite tune out the Oedipal-creepy chorus of a song called “Mother’s Day”—about a hard-workin’, hard-drinkin’, pickup-drivin’ guy who’d never met a lady as lovin’ as his mama.

“I’m back.” It was Hardwick’s voice on the phone.

“What’s happening?”

“I’ve been tailing a rat pack, didn’t want to lose them. Dressed in scumbag couture. Couple of them got that paint shit on their faces.”

“Anything special about them?”

“There seems to be a core group, and then there’s sort of an outlier.”

“An outlier?”

“Yeah. Like he’s with the pack but not really part of them.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Right, but don’t get carried away. There’s always some kid in a group who’s a little out of the group. Don’t necessarily mean shit.”

“Can you see what’s painted on his face?”

“Got to wait till he turns around.”

“Where are you?”

“Passing in front of a booth selling taxidermied squirrels.”

“Jesus. Any bigger landmarks?”

“There’s a building down the concourse with a picture of a humongous pumpkin on the door, next to a video arcade. In fact, the mini-scumbags just went into the arcade.”

“What about the outlier?”

“Yeah, him too. They’re all inside. You want me to go in?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet. Just make sure there’s only one door, so you don’t lose them.”

“Hold on, they just came back out. On the move again.”

“All of them? The outlier, too?”

“Yeah. Just counting … eight, nine … yeah, all of them.”

“Which way are they heading?”