Phantoms

might have to borrow from other counties. Better check into that. A lot of people seem just to’ve disappeared, but their bodies may still turn up. There were about five hundred people living here. We could possibly need that many body bags.”
    And maybe even more than five hundred, Bryce thought. Because we might need a few bags for ourselves, too.
    Although Charlie had listened attentively when Bryce told him that the entire town had been wiped out, and although there was no doubt that he believed Bryce, he obviously hadn’t frilly, emotionally comprehended the awful dimensions of the disaster until he’d heard the request for two hundred body bags. An image of all those corpses, sealed in opaque plastic, stacked atop one another in Snowfield’s streets—that was what had finally pierced him.
    “Holy Mother of God,” Charlie Mercer said.
     
    While Bryce Hammond was on the telephone with Charlie Mercer, Frank and Stu started to dismantle the hulking, police-band radio that stood against the back wall of the room. Bryce had told them to find out what was wrong with the set, for there weren’t any visible signs of damage.
    The front plate was fastened down by ten tightened screws. Frank worked them loose one at a time.
    As usual, Stu wasn’t much help. He kept glancing around at Dr. Paige, who was at the other end of the room, working with Tal Whitman on another project.
    “She’s sure a sweet piece of meat,” Stu said, casing a covetous look at the doctor and picking his nose at the same time.
    Frank said nothing.
    Stu looked at what he’d pried out of his nose, inspecting it as if it were a pearl found in an oyster. He glanced back at the doctor again. “Look at the way she fills out them jeans. Christ, I’d love to dip my wick in that.”
    Frank stared at the three screws he’d removed from the radio and counted to ten, resisting the urge to drive one of the screws straight into Stu’s thick skull. “You aren’t stupid enough to make a pass at her, I hope.”
    “Why not? That’s a hot number if ever I did see one.”
    “You try it, and the sheriff’ll kick your ass.”
    “He don’t spook me.”
    “You amaze me, Stu. How can you be thinking about sex right now? Hasn’t it occurred to you that we all might die here, tonight, maybe even in the next minute or two?”
    “All the more reason to make a play for her if I get a chance,” Wargle said. “I mean, shit, if we’re livin’ on borrowed time, who cares? Who wants to die limp? Right? Even the other one’s nice.”
    “The other what?”
    “The girl. The kid.” Stu said.
    “She’s only fourteen.”
    “Sweet stuff.”
    “She’s a child , Wargle.”
    “She’s plenty old enough.”
    “That’s sick.”
    “Wouldn’t you like to have her firm little legs wrapped around you, Frank?”
    The screwdriver slipped out of the notch on the head of the screw and skidded across the metal cover plate with a stuttering screech.
    In a voice which was nearly inaudible but which nevertheless froze Wargle’s grin, Frank said, “If I ever hear of you laying one filthy finger on that girl or on any other young girl, anywhere, any time, I won’t just help press charges against you; I’ll come after you . I know how to go after a man, Wargle. I wasn’t just a desk jockey in Nam. I was in the field. And I still know how to handle myself. I know how to handle you . You hear me? You believe me?”
    For a moment Wargle was unable to speak. He just stared into Frank’s eyes.
    Conversations drifted over from other parts of the big room, but none of the words were clear. Still, it was obvious that no one realized what was happening at the radio.
    Wargle finally blinked and licked his lips and looked down at his shoes and then looked up and put on an aw-shucks grin. “Hey, gee, Frank, don’t get sore. Don’t get so riled up. I didn’t mean it.”
    “You believe me?” Frank insisted.
    “Sure, sure. But I tell you I didn’t mean nothin’. I was just shootin’ off at the mouth. Locker room talk. You know how it is. You know I didn’t mean it. Am I some kind of pervert, for God’s sake? Hey, come on, Frank, lighten up. Okay?”
    Frank stared at him a moment longer, then said, “Let’s get this radio dismantled.”
     
    Tal Whitman opened the tall metal gun locker.
    Jenny Paige said, “Good heavens, it’s a regular arsenal.”
    He passed the weapons to her, and she lined them up on a nearby work table.
    The locker seemed to contain an