Page 127 of Confessions of the Dead

“I understand how concerned you all are, rightfully so. This man here and his boss have let our town come apart, literally watched it crumble and burn—well, we’re taking things back before their actions result in the death of all of us.”

“Ellie’s not here because she’s busy trying to help all of you!” Matt shouted out. “We all need to take a breath. I know tensions are high, but we’ll get through this. We’ll all—”

Rodney cracked him on the back of the neck with the Colt. Not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to stun him into silence.

Peterson eyed this as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then said, “You’ll get your chance to speak, Matt. Providing these people still want to hear from you when I’m through. Until then, I’d appreciate a little restraint. A little respect for the process.”

“The process? What are you talking about?”

Confusion filled Peterson’s face. He stood there for a moment, then stepped away from the microphone and knelt next to Matt. “You honestly don’t know, do you? You don’t remember?”

“Remember? Remember what?”

“Your station.”

“My …”

Matt had no idea what he was talking about. Peterson had completely lost it. Snapped. Nothing else made sense.

Peterson pushed the brim of his ball cap up and leaned closer,as if the proximity allowed him to see deeper into Matt. “You’ve never forgotten before.” He glanced over at the faces in the bleachers. “The rest of ’em, sure, but never you. That’s new.”

“I don’t understand.”

Peterson pursed his lips. “Well, you will soon enough.”

“Stu!” Someone shouted from the crowd. “There’s a fence up around the entire town, I walked it with my boy earlier today. Some kind of military presence. Religious folk, too. Who is it?”

Peterson rose and went back to the microphone. Shielding his eyes from the lights, he squinted up into the bleachers. “That you, Ben? I’ve had my boys walk that, too. We’re still trying to figure out what to make of it, but best we can tell whoever it is isn’t letting anyone in or out. They cut our communications. Effectively isolated us.”

Someone else shouted, “What? Like we’re caged in? What happens when we run out of food? Main Street’s gone. We all gonna survive off the Gas ’n’ Go out on 112? Screw that. We need to get out of here!”

This brought on another round of murmurs from the crowd. Peterson settled them with a wave of his hand. “Hush, all of you. This ain’t nothing but a test. It’s been that from the start.” He swept his arm back and pointed at the girl who looked a lot like Emily Pridham. “Her arrival this morning was not a surprise. Not some kind of accident. It was expected. It was foretold. I admit, I was in the dark earlier, same as all you, but she showed me the truth. She brought me clarity. With one touch, all of it made perfect sense. I know why she’s here. I know why those people have locked us down in our own town. I know what they all want from us. Yeah, that sounds crazy, I know that, too, and I don’t expect any of you to believe me. I could tell you until I’m blue in the face, and you wouldn’t believe me. It’s easier to show you. Let her touch you. Let hershow you. And we’ll all understand. And once we understand, once we know our place, only then can we move forward.”

This brought on more murmurs from the crowd.

Gabby leaned closer and whispered, “Matt, look.”

He followed her gaze. Several of Peterson’s men were moving around the outer edge of the gym, positioning near the doors. All of there were armed. A few of the doors were already chained shut.

Rodney Campos dug the barrel of the Colt into the back of Matt’s neck. “You say a fucking word and I kill you, then her. Now’s not the time to be a hero.”

Peterson pulled the microphone from the stand and stepped to the side of the podium. “I’d like everyone to line up single file. Give her a chance to touch you,a chance to show you, and once we all understand our place, our station, we’ll work out a plan. We’ll take back the Bend. I won’t force anyone. If you don’t want to do this, just stay in your seat. But trust me on this,you want to. Does that sound fair enough?”

There were several more muffled conversations from the crowd, but when the first few stood and started making their way down the bleachers and across the gymnasium floor, others followed.

“Good. Good. Help them, Eli. Get a nice, straight line going. That’s the way.”

Peterson watched them for a moment, then went over to the girl. “We’re in this together; always have been.” He said into the mic, “While you all are getting organized, we need to do a little housekeeping. Because sometimes the easiest way to settle a beast is to feed it. Don’t you all agree?”

He directed the words at nobody in particular, and the oddness of them brought on an uneasy quiet from the crowd. Peterson stepped closer to the girl and told her, “Hold out your arms.”

Palms up, fingers splayed, she did as he asked.

Peterson leaned in, studied the writing, all the names, then seemed to settle on one. He turned back to the bleachers. “Keith Gayton, are you here?”

There was the rustle of shoes on the wood, then Keith stood. He was in the second row on the far right. His face twisted in amix of fear and anxiety, partially lost in the shadows from a dead bulb above.

“Why don’t you come down here, Keith. Join us.”

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