It

The glass corridor connecting the adult library to the Children’s Library suddenly exploded in a single brilliant flare of light. Glass flew out in an umbrella shape, whickering through the straining whipping trees which dotted the library grounds. Someone could have been severely hurt or even killed by such a deadly fusillade, but there was no one there, either inside or out. The library had not been opened that day at all. The tunnel which had so fascinated Ben Hans com as a boy would never be replaced; there had been so much costly destruction in Derry that it seemed simpler to leave the two libraries as separate unconnected buildings. In time, no one on the Derry City Council could even remember what that glass umbilicus had been for. Perhaps only Ben himself could really have told them how it was to stand outside In the still cold of a January night, your nose running, the tips of your fingers numb inside your mittens, watching the people pass back and forth inside, walking through winter with their coats off and surrounded by light. He could have told them . but maybe it wasn’t the sort of thing you could have gotten up and testified about at a City Council meeting — how you stood out in the cold dark and learned to love the light. All of that’s as may be; the facts were just these: the glass corridor blew up for no apparent reason, no one was hurt (which was a blessing, since the final toll taken by that morning’s storm — in human terms, at least — was sixty-seven killed and better than three hundred and twenty injured), and it was never rebuilt. After May 31st of 1985, if you wanted to get from the Children’s Library to the adult library, you had to walk outside to do it. And if it was cold, or raining, or snowing, you had to put on your coat.
6
Out / 10:54 A.M., May 31st, 1985
‘Wait,’ Bill gasped. ‘Give me a chance . . . rest.’
‘Let me help you with her,’ Richie said again. They had left Eddie back in the Spider’s lair, and that was something none of them wanted to talk about. But Eddie was dead and Audra was still alive — at least, technically.
‘I’ll do it,’ Bill said between choked gasps for air.
‘Bullshit. You’ll give yourself a fucking heart attack. Let me help you, Big Bill.’
‘How’s your h-h-head?’
‘Hurts,’ Richie said. ‘Don’t change the subject.’
Reluctantly, Bill let Richie take her. It could have been worse; Audra was a tall girl whose normal weight was one hundred and forty pounds. But the part she’d been scheduled to play in Attic Room was that of a young woman being held hostage by a borderline psychotic who fancied himself a political terrorist. Because Freddie Firestone had wanted to shoot all of the attic sequences first, Audra had gone on a strict poultry — cottage –cheese — t u na– fish diet
and lost twenty pounds. Still, after stumble –staggering along with her in the dark for a quarter of a mile (or a half, or three-quarters of a mile, or who knew), that one hundred and twenty felt more like two hundred.
‘Th-Thanks, m-m-man,’ he said.
‘Don’t mention it. Your turn next, Haystack.’
‘Beep-beep, Richie,’ Ben said, and Bill grinned in spite of himself. It was a tired grin, and it didn’t last long, but a little was better than none.
‘Which way, Bill?’ Beverly asked. ‘That water sounds louder than ever. I don’t really fancy drowning down here.’
‘Straight ahead, then left,’ Bill said. ‘Maybe we better try to go a little faster.’
They went on for half an hour, Bill calling the lefts and rights. The sound of the water continued to swell until it seemed to surround them, a scary Dolby stereo effect in the dark. Bill felt his way around a corner, one hand trailing over damp brick, and suddenly water was running over his shoes. The current was shallow and fast.
‘Give me Audra,’ he said to Ben, who was panting loudly. ‘Upstream now.’ Ben passed her carefully back to Bill, who managed to sling her over his shoulder ma fireman’s carry. If she’d only protest . . . move . . . do something. ‘How’s matches, Bev?’
‘Not many. Half a dozen, maybe. Bill . . . do you know where you’re going?’
‘I think I d-d-do,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
They followed him around the corner. The water foamed about Bill’s ankles, then it was up to his shins, and then it was thigh-deep. The thunder of the water had deepened to a steady bass roar. The tunnel they were in was shaking steadily. For awhile Bill thought the current was going to become too strong to walk against, but then they passed a feeder-pipe that was pouring a huge jet of water ni to their tunnel — he marvelled at the white-water force of it — and the current slacked off somewhat, although the water continued