He looks annoyed that he has to admit it. “You were right, okay? You were right all along.”

She never gets tired of hearing that, no matter what the source. Then he says something that surprises her.

“Besides, I think we found out who killed your dad.”

She freezes, and all the good feeling drops out of her like she’s lost a pint of blood. “Who?” she says.

Carl shakes his head. “Not here. Come with me. I’ll explain.”

Carrie follows him out, trying to look normal, trying not to spook anyone more than they already have. They exit the gym.

Carrie walks side by side with Carl. He goes outside, around the corner of the school. They stand on the steps of Middleton High, next to his parked cruiser. Nobody else is there. Seems as good a place as any.

“Okay,” Carrie says. “Start talking.”

Instead, Carl takes out his service weapon and says, “Get in the car, Carrie. I won’t tell you twice.”

Wade sits in Hog’s Mercedes, engine idling, the phone in his lap, waiting for the call that will start everything. He can’t wait to see the faces of those people when he walks into the gym again.

Buzz Bixby pulls up alongside in his BMW and rolls down the window.

Wade waits a good long time before he does the same. They might be working together now, but Wade never liked Buzz. He enjoys making him wait.

“Change in plans,” Buzz tells him.

Wade scowls. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Buzz smiles. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like this.”

Wade listens, and damn if Buzz isn’t right. He smiles and puts the car in drive and heads off to his new destination.

Buzz watches him go, then checks the clock on the dash.

He flips a U-turn and heads back toward Middleton High.

It’s time.

Buzz rolls up to the gym just as Carl Stuckey pulls out of the parking lot.

He’s one of the last to arrive, which is how they planned it. The other Followers are inside. He was worried that the media might be here tonight — “Twenty years later with the class that was shattered by the events of New Year’s Evil,” he could practically hear some member of the lamestream media saying — but there have been so many other mass shootings since then. Middleton’s body count looks almost quaint. It’s ancient history now.

Everything is going exactly right.

He walks through the lobby doors and takes out his phone. He catches a glimpse of himself in the trophy case, and, behind the reflection, an old photo of his past life. The day they won the state championship.

He looked pretty damn cool at that moment, he has to admit. This feels like that. He’s the hero again. He can almost hear the soundtrack behind him, the roar of the crowd.