That was the thought passing through Cole’s head as he heard the slow, wet click of a revolver behind him.

CHAPTER 46

STEP away from those bars.”

Cole recognized the voice even before the sheriff moved around to face him. Curtis’s face remained a shadow under the brim of his Stetson.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said step away.”

“I can’t do that, Curtis. You know what I’m here to do, and I’m not leaving until it’s done.”

“We’re gonna fuck you up, Logan!” said a voice from the cell. “Let’s get this shit started.”

Cole turned, expecting to see Booker Flamont. A quick scan of the cell revealed no sign of him. “Where is he, Curtis? Where’s Booker?”

Another Badger answered when Curtis didn’t. “They separated us. Booker’s through that door over there.”

The boy who had spoken was a vision of puberty gone awry—wild hair and acne covering overdeveloped muscles. His sloping forehead bulged over a distended brow. Much of his hair had fallen out in irregular patches. Slick, ruddy skin stretched tightly over his bare chest and arms.

Cole gave him a nod. “You’re Larkin, right? Tommy Larkin? Three-time All-State? Defensive cocaptain?”

If the man was flattered by the recognition, he didn’t show it. “What’s it to you, fuckwad?”

Cole held up the ring of keys, close enough for Tommy to grab them through the bars. “Go next door, get your teammates, and bring them back here.”

Tommy’s dilated pupils shifted to the sheriff for either permission or denial. Receiving neither, he took the keys, and went to work on the lock.

Curtis turned his aim on the cell. “Stop now, Larkin, or I’ll shoot.”

“No, he won’t,” Cole said evenly. “Keep going.”

But Tommy did stop.

“You can’t kill us all, Curtis,” Cole said.

“I don’t have to kill you all.”

“I found the Jackrabbits. They’re suiting up in the Killington locker room as we speak … under Coach Hickham’s authority. The stadium is already filling up. Half the town of Elmwood has driven over, and the rest are on their way. And you know as well as I do that you don’t have the manpower to prevent this game. You can’t fight it, Curtis. It’s over.”

“It’s far from over, C-Cole.” He coughed. “I’ll be the one who … who says it’s … over.”

He sounded short-winded. There was resignation in his tone, but his grip held firm on the pistol. His aim left Tommy Larkin and returned to Cole’s chest.

“I won’t quit now,” Cole said. “I can’t quit. So if you wanna stop me … you’re gonna have to shoot me dead.”

“Dead?” A phlegmy laugh trickled from Curtis’s lips. “You know a lot about death now, don’t you?”

“What do you mean by that?”