“Fans just ahead,” he told Dante. “Out front of Granby’s.”
Dante grinned. “Think she’ll boo us?”
Neil laughed. “I’m not sure. She said she’d be secretly chee—” he broke off as he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure standing at the edge of the road. He was beyond the security barrier, listing unevenly on the dark tar like a lost marcher from somewhere farther up. But his dirty jacket and ragged pants put him squarely outside the norm. Why isn’t security at least putting him back behind the barricade? Neil wondered. Forget security— where are Joan and Randi? Did he follow them? How did he—
“What’s wrong?” asked Dante.
“That guy,” Neil leaned toward Dante’s ear to mutter. “The one just ahead in the street. Ran into him in the park earlier. He tried to talk to Randi.” Neil shook his head as Dante stared at the man. “Probably harmless. Drunk though, for sure. Just creeped me out. Gave him some cash and my gloves and told him to go someplace warm. I’ll feel better when we get to Joan and Randi.”
Dante craned around to look behind them. “All the cops are back at that fistfight or whatever it was.”
“Really, I’m sure he’s fine. He backed off easily enough. Don’t think he wanted to, you know, take her or anything.”
“You sure?” Dante glanced at him. It must have been obvious from his face how Neil actually felt, because Dante immediately said, “No, you aren’t sure. And if it’s not Randi, there are a thousand other little girls in this crowd.” He glanced back once more, looking for security. Then he leaned past Neil. “Hey!” he shouted, his voice just another in the sea of music and cheering and feet stamping. “Hey, you!”
“He hasn’t really done anything, Dante. Just a guy down on his luck. Could be us. Almost was, a few years ago.”
“Maybe. Do you want to risk it? Looks to me like he was following Randi. Waiting to catch her when you and Joan were distracted.”
Neil couldn’t deny how uncomfortable the man made him. And that he had come so close to Granby’s made it worse. Maybe Dante was right. “I’ll just call parade security,” he said, trying to hold onto the reel with one hand and fumble in his pocket for his phone with the other. The line wobbled slightly. “Evan gave us that number if we saw anything bad—”
“Yeah, yeah you do that. I’m going to take care of this so we don’t lose him in the crowd,” said Dante absentmindedly. He let go of the reel and took a few steps toward the homeless man. Brinybrickle bounced and Neil abandoned his search for his cell phone and gripped with both hands. “Don’t, man, I’m sure everything’s fine.”
“Just going to talk. That’s all,” said Dante absently. Evan glared over at them, alarmed by the unexpected movement, but they were moving into a spinning maneuver and he was too busy directing the handlers to come and correct the problem.
“Dante,” called Neil, following the arcing curve of the other handlers. “Dante, come back!”
But Dante was shouting to the homeless man, trying to catch his attention. The man’s face was utterly blank. Passive. Neil glanced back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the man’s hands before the path of the balloon became more acute and he had to pay attention to the road in front of him. He’d had only one of Neil’s gloves on. Just the way he had as he’d taken the twenty from Neil’s hand. The other glove dangling between his fingers still. Don’t be ridiculous, Neil told himself, he obviously just took the glove off again a minute ago. That’s all. It disturbed him more than it should have.
Evan was ahead, still directing the balloon but his gaze was elsewhere. On Dante and the homeless man, most likely. Even from the far side of the street, Neil could hear Dante’s raised voice intermittently between the chatter of the crowd. The balloon stopped to waggle an inflated arm in fury back at Santa’s sleigh and Neil took the opportunity to peer through the web of cords beneath toward the toy store, hoping for some glimpse of Joan. For some signal that she and Randi were okay. Don’t panic, he scolded himself. Of course they’re fine. Just a homeless man who needs a bed. Just wandered downtown. Not hurting anyone. They were moving again, rotating back. Neil dutifully marched the slow arc, gripping the plastic reel tighter as a sudden gust slid under the balloon’s belly and began pulling it upward. He concentrated on holding his line level, pressing his weight downward, so he missed a few of the next vital seconds.
It was the collective gasp of the crowd that made him look down from Brinybrickle’s pickle-green pants. Dante was still in front of the homeless man, who seemed not to have moved an inch, nor focused on Dante in the least, still staring vacantly at something across the road. But Evan had joined Dante now. Neil squinted and saw Dante was holding Evan by the arm. Perhaps “join” was the wrong word. Evan was lunging for the homeless man. His normally placid, friendly face strained and deep red in an open-mouthed howl. Neil had a flash of fear that the balloon pilot was having a heart attack right there on the road before Dante lost his grip and Evan tripped into the homeless man, sending them both careening into the metal barrier. The tumble seemed to shake the other man from his stupor and he grappled with Evan, who had not stopped, his teeth snapping shut on the homeless man’s cheek. The barrier slid with a rumble as they struggled and the crowd pressed instinctively away. There was little space to move, though, and it only created about a foot of space between the people on the edge of the mass and Evan. The homeless man yelped and shoved at Evan’s head. Dante tried to pry his way in between the two men and Neil’s immediate thought was to help, his grip on the tether loosening until the cries from the other handlers stopped him and the balloon wobbled, making waves of green light over the entire thing.
“Don’t let go!” the man in front of him turned to shout. “You let go and a lot more people are going to get hur—” He broke off with a surprised grunt as the homeless man plowed into him and knocked him over. His partner on the reel let go to help when the homeless man snarled and clawed at the downed handler. Neil’s reel yanked with the sudden release of one of the cords. Several people had climbed over the barrier to help. Neil didn’t understand what he was seeing. Evan had turned his rage on Dante for some unfathomable reason and had sunk his teeth into Dante’s jacketed arm. He wouldn’t let go despite the group of people trying to separate them and Dante’s own attempt to pull his arm free. Another yank as more tethers were abandoned as people ran to help the combatants struggling beneath Brinybrickle. The evil elf tipped toward Neil for a second and a breeze gusted beneath and the balloon slid rapidly, dragging Neil and the remaining handlers sideways. Most of the crowd was far more interested in the fights than they were in the fate of the balloon. Neil saw enough to know that Dante was bleeding, but not how badly or where the other combatants were. The wind picked up again and he stumbled backward, lifted slightly from his feet by the balloon. He could hear the panicked yells for help from other handlers who hadn’t let go. His back hit the metal barricade and half a dozen arms shot out to grab onto the tether.
“The reel, hold the reel,” he cried. The hands shifted, helping him to push down on the reel.
“Sit down,” commanded someone behind him. “More stable that way.” Someone pushed his shoulder and Neil obediently buckled onto the freezing tar. A few of the hands resolved into terrified faces as they shoved aside the barrier and joined him. More streamed into the road to help the handlers, some people darting toward the clumps of fighting instead. The breeze gusted and a crash of breaking glass came from overhead. A few screams from the crowd and then a steady squeal of helium rapidly exiting small holes in Brinybrickle. Neil resisted the urge to look up, expecting an eyeful of glass shards if he did.
“Where the fuck is security,” growled a man across from him. Neil shook his head.
“Saw some two blocks back dealing with a fight, but that shouldn’t be all of them. And this seems a little more—” he broke off as the wind gusted again, yanking on his tired arms. The balloon flapped as it began slackening in the middle. He could hear voices through
speakers nearby now, police trying to corral the crowd. A vehicle must have been close by, the strobe of blue lights mixing with the yellow-green of the sunlight through the translucent balloon. It made a strange glow over them all. The balloon collapsed slowly, settling and drooping toward Neil, cutting him off from any view of the crowd and then of the other handlers. It was still full enough that he couldn’t risk releasing the reel. A few of the people sitting with him did, though, standing to hold up the sagging plastic, creating a small tent of air.
“Take shallow breaths,” commanded a woman in front of him. “Most of the helium will go up but some’s going to be trapped under here with us. Help me find the edge,” she said to someone farther up, “get fresh air in here until help comes.” The crowd sounded distant, muffled by the thick material. Neil had a second of uneasy calm and time to worry whether Joan and Randi were safe. He hoped Randi hadn’t seen any of it. That she was still laughing and pointing at the toymaker float ahead. The balloon shifted again, this time violently and repeatedly.
“Shit,” muttered the woman next to him, pressing down on the reel with him. “Are they fighting on top of the vinyl?”
The crack of a gunshot burst through the cocoon of plastic as if in answer. And then multiple screams.
“My kids!” cried one of the men holding up the balloon. He started toward the edge of the balloon, following the others.
“All of our kids,” said another. The wail of a siren blared through the crowded street. She’s down the road. She’s out of sight. Safe, Neil kept telling himself, mostly to stave off utter panic.
“Think it’s down enough,” said Neil after the siren abruptly cut out. “We can let go and stand on top now. At least we’ll be able to see that way.” He released the reel and clutched the plastic above him instead, making his way toward the opening the woman had made. The others followed in a train. He pushed aside the heavy material and began rolling it back, trying to push against it, sending little pockets of helium puffing away toward holes. There were other small lumps on the edges of the balloon where other handlers were holding on. The elf’s leering head, still bouncing and bulbous, blocked Neil’s view of the spot where Dante had last been standing. A large section of the balloon’s chest was being cut away by officers, near a writhing, shrieking mass that wriggled beneath it. Much of the crowd had been moved back and Neil found himself in a mostly clear space. It changed quickly, officers sprinting toward them. Neil was horrified to see a few with drawn weapons. He held up his hands instinctively. The people who had followed him out did the same.
“Get down!” one of the officers bellowed and Neil dropped on top of Brinybrickle’s foot. A pillow of helium sank beneath him. A flurry of footsteps tramped through the plastic around him and then hands patting his legs, his chest, then retreating.
“Where do you guys think we got a weapon?” muttered a man next to Neil.
“Nobody even needed one to do this,” said Neil.
“Stay down!” yelled an officer above them. Neil pressed the bulge of plastic that sat in front of his face, pushing it away so he could see. A large flap had been cut in the chest and was being yanked away. The people beneath were bloody and still struggling. One was lying motionless a little apart from the others. Neil wondered if it were the person who’d been shot or someone else. And if they were dead. He was ashamed to realize how relieved he was to see that it wasn’t Dante. He watched the police officers try to wrangle the others apart. A few peeled off and were taken somewhere near the head of the balloon, but a tight knot of fighters remained, a tangle of limbs and torn clothing. It took several seconds for Neil to pick out the sound of them from the general chaos. At last, he realized they were growling. Low, rippling grunts without any kind of meaning. The officers shouted more warnings over the noise and then one of the figures jerked and stiffened before falling. Then another. Two more as the officers fired tasers into their backs. Something wriggled under the heavy vinyl a few feet to Neil’s left.
“Hey!” cried the man next to him, “There’s somebody under there.” The man rose to his knees.
“Stop! You need to stay put,” barked the officer who was still hovering over them, nervously pointing a gun at the remaining combatants as the other security continued to subdue them.
“There’s someone under the balloon,” protested the man. “Look! That vinyl is hundreds of pounds. And the helium trapped under there— they’ll suffocate.”
Neil looked over his shoulder at the policeman and watched him glance at the writhing lump. “We just have to roll back the plastic,” offered Neil. “Just a foot or two so they can see where to crawl out. It’s heavy. If it’s a kid who ran in or something—”
The policeman nodded once. It was all the permission Neil needed. He and the man beside him crouched just below the policeman’s raised arm and tugged at the vinyl. The helium pockets made it easier for a few seconds, but they soon slithered away, escaping to other sections of the balloon as they rolled the thick material.
“This way, buddy, come toward us,” called the man. Neil struggled to lift the bulky edge a foot or two so that some light and air would reach the lump which had slowed markedly in the seconds it took them to start trying to reach it. The lump seemed to revive at the sudden rush of air that puffed beneath the fabric and it snaked its way toward them, grunting with the effort. Or— Neil had thought it was a grunt. Years later he’d wonder if it had been a growl instead. He should have recognized his own glove as it emerged from beneath the balloon and reached toward them. But the policeman was shouting again and Neil could hear Dante’s voice groaning somewhere nearby. Some panicked instinct shorted out his rational thought, convincing him it was Dante’s hand reaching toward him, that it was Dante’s glove dripping dark blood, smearing it on the bright green vinyl and Neil reached to grasp the extended hand and haul the lump free. The face that emerged was not Dante’s. It was the homeless man’s from that morning. Gasping and scrabbling at him.
“It’s okay, man, you’re okay. Gonna get you cle—” Neil broke off trying to soothe him as the man lunged up from the street and toppled him to the pavement with a cry. The first bite was on Neil’s sleeve. Hard and bruising but the wool of his coat was too thick for the man’s crumbling teeth and Neil managed to push him off for an instant. “Relax!” shouted Neil. “Not trying to hurt you!” The man who had been helping him raise the balloon’s edge cried out in shock and the policeman glanced down. The homeless man clamped down on Neil’s bare hand and his teeth tore into the calloused skin of his palm. Neil shouted at the crushing pain and smacked at the man’s head, just trying to get him to release. The policeman yelled a warning. The other balloon handler cried for the policeman to wait, not to shoot.
Almost irrationally, Neil had thought of Randi as a baby. The way she’d bite Joan while she nursed when her teeth started coming in. How Joan would yelp and instinctively tense. She never slapped. Of course she didn’t. Neil didn’t know how she remembered not to. The need to lash back was almost instinctual. The thought snapped away as the homeless man ground his teeth against the muscle tissue in Neil’s hand and he kicked the man as hard as he could. It worked for an instant, the man grunted and let go. Neil rolled away as the homeless man sat up with a horrendous howl of rage. The policeman yelled for him to stop but the homeless man lunged again and then— it wasn’t the sound. That was almost an afterthought, the crack of the gun, the tingling smell of gunpowder hanging there for a second after. The continued shouts of the police— those were all secondary. It was the feel of the warm, humid spray of blood that struck Neil first. And the terror that it was his own as he instinctively crouched. The homeless man collapsed beside him. It took a few more seconds to understand that the blood on his face and jacket wasn’t Neil’s. That though he was registering intense pain, it was from the bites in his hand and arm, not from some gaping wound in his chest or his head or— The world returned in pieces. The sounds of the chaos finally filtering through and then someone
gripping him by the collar, hauling him up. The policeman yelling into his face.
“Are you injured?”
Neil shook his head but held up his bleeding arm. The scream of more sirens bounced off the storefronts and people around them still scrambled to make way. Santa’s float careened around the end of the block behind them and a line of ambulances and more police cars appeared in its wake.
“Randi,” he muttered to the cop. “My daughter. My wife.”
The cop nodded as if anything Neil was saying made some sort of sense. “We’ll sort it out—”
“No. The man— the— him,” he waved his hand at the body of the homeless man, suddenly distressed that he didn’t know the man’s name. Large drops of blood slipped down his wrist and the cop grabbed his arm, pressed it against Neil’s chest.
“Hold that tight, until the medics get here.”
It burned, but he did as he was directed. “That man, I saw him earlier, with my daughter.”
“We’ll sort it out,” said the cop. “Hold that. Other people still need my help.”
“But my daughter—” Neil stopped. The cop had already dashed away.
3
Something trickled on his cheek. Neil swiped at it with his shoulder, expecting blood. It took him several seconds to realize it was tears instead. Around him, the combatants were mostly subdued, but the area was still chaotic. Panicked clusters of people shoved each other trying to flee down the street. Some of the balloon handlers still crouched in the mounds of crumpled vinyl. A window across the street was broken, the curtains in the apartment behind it flapping in little flashes of color that kept drawing Neil’s attention for an instant before his mind deciphered what it was. He heard his name distantly and looked around. Dante stumbled toward him, tripping over the folds of vinyl, clutching his shoulder.
Before The Cure (Book 1): Before The Cure Page 2
