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ir way into Brutus Howell's throat。 〃It's us！ It's Paul and me and 。 。 。 it's us！〃
He took the first step up； so that the light over the stoop could fall fully on his face； I joined him。 Hal Moores looked back and forth between us； his angry determination giving way to bewilderment。 〃What are you doing here？〃 he asked。 〃Not only is it the shank of the morning； you boys have the duty。 I know you do； I've got the roster pinned up in my workshop。 So what in the name of 。。。 oh； Jesus。 It's not a lockdown； is it？ Or a riot？〃 He looked between us； and his gaze sharpened。 〃Who else is down by that truck？〃
Let me do the talking。 So I had instructed Brutal； but now the time to talk was here and I couldn't even open my mouth。 On my way into work that afternoon I had carefully planned out what I was going to say when we got here； and had thought that it didn't sound too crazy。 Not normal … nothing about it was normal … but maybe close enough to normal to get us through the door and give us a chance。 Give John a chance。 But now all my carefully rehearsed words were lost in a roaring confusion。 Thoughts and images … Del burning； the mouse dying； Toot jerking in Old Sparky's lap and screaming that he was a done tom turkey … whirled inside my head like sand caught in a dust…devil。 I believe there is good in the world； all of it flowing in one way or another from a loving God。 But I believe there's another force as well； one every bit as real as the God I have prayed to my whole life； and that it works consciously to bring all our decent impulses to ruin。 Not Satan； I don't mean Satan （although I believe he is real； too）； but a kind of demon of discord； a prankish and stupid thing that laughs with glee when an old man sets himself on fire trying to light his pipe or w
