Part 18 (1/2)

SHEL lost track of Dave. The victims, still choking on tear gas, lay broken and bleeding in the roadway. The crowd began to disperse. There were scattered voices, people saying they deserved it, maybe next time they'll know better, got no choice. They wandered back into Selma. The police, after a delay, allowed the medics in. lost track of Dave. The victims, still choking on tear gas, lay broken and bleeding in the roadway. The crowd began to disperse. There were scattered voices, people saying they deserved it, maybe next time they'll know better, got no choice. They wandered back into Selma. The police, after a delay, allowed the medics in.

They put the more seriously injured on stretchers and loaded them into the ambulances. Others staggered away, back toward the Brown Chapel.

Shel got a whiff of the tear gas, and his eyes began to water.

”Look out,” said a guy behind him. ”Wind's coming this way.”

The man stood a few feet away, shaking his head silently.

”Where are the victims going?” asked Shel.

”Probably Good Samaritan,” he said. ”It's the only hospital that'll take them.”

HE went back to the Brown Chapel. The demonstrators stumbled in amid sobs and screams. Two of the ambulances were unloading. Volunteers helped victims into the parsonage and tried to calm hysterical children. As he watched, a victim was carried out of the building on a stretcher and placed in a waiting hea.r.s.e. Moments later a second hea.r.s.e joined the first. A man got into the driver's seat. One of the stretcher carriers climbed in back and pulled the doors shut. A woman hurried around to talk to the driver. ”Wait, James,” she said. went back to the Brown Chapel. The demonstrators stumbled in amid sobs and screams. Two of the ambulances were unloading. Volunteers helped victims into the parsonage and tried to calm hysterical children. As he watched, a victim was carried out of the building on a stretcher and placed in a waiting hea.r.s.e. Moments later a second hea.r.s.e joined the first. A man got into the driver's seat. One of the stretcher carriers climbed in back and pulled the doors shut. A woman hurried around to talk to the driver. ”Wait, James,” she said.

”What's wrong?”

”They're filling up at Samaritan. Take them to Burwell. You know where that is?”

”Sure.”

”Go.”

Shel intercepted her on the way back inside. ”How bad is it?”

”Bad,” she said. ”They're all maniacs.” She took a moment to control her voice. ”Broken bones mostly. But the tear gas was the worst. They can't get it out of their lungs.” Her eyes were ice-cold. ”Those homemade clubs. They used garden hoses with nails. The sons of-” She started to cry, shook it off, and hurried back inside.

Shel followed her in and did what he could. He helped carry stretchers, took fresh bandages to the doctors, got water for people whose legs had been broken. After a while it became more than he could take, and he went outside. He sucked in air, tried to block off what he was seeing, watched a child carried screaming from the building. Then he went back in.

FINALLY, the worst of it seemed done. The more seriously injured patients had been hurried away. The others had returned to their homes or to whatever temporary shelters had been arranged. The Burwell Infirmary turned out to be a nursing home operated for forty years by Minnie B. Anderson. Prior to the day's events, it had been jammed to overflowing, but they'd made room. the worst of it seemed done. The more seriously injured patients had been hurried away. The others had returned to their homes or to whatever temporary shelters had been arranged. The Burwell Infirmary turned out to be a nursing home operated for forty years by Minnie B. Anderson. Prior to the day's events, it had been jammed to overflowing, but they'd made room.

Shel had had enough. This was a day that would change him forever. He had not believed human nature, on a ma.s.s scale, capable of such depravity. Not that he wasn't aware that it had happened. But reading about things like this, and experiencing them-l iving through it-It had been a long time since he'd cried.

There was no sign of Dave. Probably, when things got bad, he'd hit the trigger and jumped out of there. Gone home. He hoped so. He walked back toward Broad Street, looking for a place that was more or less empty. But there were people everywhere. Eventually, he decided the h.e.l.l with it, turned onto Broad, saw two deputies approaching, walked into the entry of a clothing store-which was, since it was Sunday, closed-and hit the b.u.t.ton. He didn't think anyone had noticed.

Didn't really care anymore.

HIS den had never looked, felt, safer. den had never looked, felt, safer.

He had just begun to relax when a nimbus formed. Thank G.o.d. Dave was okay. He drew a deep breath, but then held it. The figure inside was not not Dave. Dave.

The light grew brighter, started to fade, and a puzzled, overweight little guy in a police sergeant's uniform staggered out, grabbed hold of a chair arm, and looked around in a state of shock. He was holding the converter in his right hand. His eyes locked on Shel while his jaw dropped. ”What the G.o.ddam h.e.l.l happened?” he demanded. ”Where am I?”

”It's okay, Sergeant,” Shel said.

The cop was terrified. Where is this? What happened to the G.o.ddam jail? Then he took a second look at Shel. ”I know you.”

”I don't think so. We've never met.”

”You were out at the bridge. A little while ago.”

”Yes. But I didn't see you.”

”h.e.l.l, you didn't. You were staring at me.”

”Take it easy, Sarge. I think you had a blackout.”

”What are you talking about? I don't have G.o.ddam blackouts. Where is this place? How'd I get here?”

”This is what did it,” said Shel, pointing at the converter. He reached for it, tried to take it. But the sergeant s.n.a.t.c.hed it back.

”Tell me what's happening, d.a.m.n it.”

”The converter. In your hand. It packs a wallop. An electrical charge.”

”What?”

”Electricity. I think it shocked you. Better put it down.” He flipped it like a hot rock. ”What's your name, Sergeant?”

”Jay. Jay Taylor.”

”Okay, Jay. My name's Shel. Everything's under control.”

”So where the G.o.ddam h.e.l.l are we?”

”Listen.” Shel picked up the converter, pretending to handle it with great care. ”Let me fix this. Then we can go out and get in the car, and I'll take you back to the station.”

”I still don't-”

”Just hang on a second while I make sure this thing can't do any more damage.” He matched its setting to his own unit. When he was satisfied, he held it out to the sergeant.

”No, thanks,” Taylor said.

”It's okay. I turned it off.”

The guy was staring across the room at his computer. ”What's that?” he asked.

”My TV.”

”That's not a TV.”

”Listen, you want to get back, don't you?”