Jake looked at the heaped Wolves. The green hoods. The gray leggings. The black boots. The snarling, decomposing faces. Eddie had already pulled one of those rotting metal faces away and looked at what was beneath it. Nothing but smooth metal, plus lenses that served as eyes, a round mesh grille that doubtless served as a nose, two sprouted microphones at the temples for ears. No, all the personality these things had was in the masks and clothing they wore.

“Crazy or not, I know what they are, Eddie. Or where they come from, at least. Marvel Comics.”

A look of sublime relief filled Eddie’s face. He bent and kissed Jake on the cheek. A ghost of a smile touched the boy’s mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“The Spider-Man books,” Eddie said. “When I was a kid I couldn’t get enough of those things.”

“I didn’t buy em myself,” Jake said, “but Timmy Mucci down at Mid-Town Lanes used to have a terrible jones for the Marvel mags. Spider-Man, The Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk, Captain America, all of em. These guys…”

“They look like Dr. Doom,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “It’s not exact, I’m sure the masks were modified to make them look a little more like wolves, but otherwise…same green hoods, same green cloaks. Yeah, Dr. Doom.”

“And the sneetches,” Eddie said. “Have you ever heard of Harry Potter?”

“I don’t think so. Have you?”

“No, and I’ll tell you why. Because the sneetches are from the future. Maybe from some Marvel comic book that’ll come out in 1990 or 1995. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Jake nodded.

“It’s all nineteen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Nineteen, ninety-nine, and nineteen-ninety-nine.”

Eddie glanced around. “Where’s Suze?”

“Probably went after her chair,” Jake said. But before either of them could explore the question of Susannah Dean’s where-abouts any further (and by then it was probably too late, anyway), the first of the folken from town arrived. Eddie and Jake were swept into a wild, impromptu celebration—hugged, kissed, shaken by the hand, laughed over, wept over, thanked and thanked and thanked.

Twenty-One

Ten minutes after the main body of the townsfolk arrived, Rosalita reluctantly approached Roland. The gunslinger was extremely glad to see her. Eben Took had taken him by the arms and was telling him—over and over again, endlessly, it seemed—how wrong he and Telford had been, how utterly and completely wrong, and how when Roland and his ka-tet were ready to move on, Eben Took would outfit them from stem to stern and not a penny would they pay.

“Roland!” Rosa said.

Roland excused himself and took her by the arm, leading her a little way up the road. The Wolves had been scattered everywhere and were now being mercilessly looted of their possessions by the laughing, deliriously happy folken . Stragglers were arriving every minute.