The Twelve by Justin Cronin Read Free Book Online

got your tongue?” The man chuckled at some private joke. “That’s funny, you know. Under the circumstances. I could go for a little cat tartare right now.” He turned toward Grey, his eyebrows arcing. “Don’t look so shocked. You’ll see what I mean. Takes a few days but then it kicks in, real hard.”
    Grey remembered the man’s name: Ignacio. Though the Ignacio that Grey remembered was older, more worn-down, with a heavy, creased brow and pores you could park a car in and jowls that sagged like a bassett hound’s. This Ignacio was in the pink of health—literally
pink
, his cheeks rouged with color, skin baby smooth, eyes twinkling like zircs.Even his hair looked younger. But there was no mistaking who it was, on account of the tat—prison ink, blurred and bluish, a hooded snake rising up his neck from the open collar of his jumpsuit.
    “Where am I?”
    “You’re a regular riot, you know that? We’re at the Red Roof.”
    “The what?”
    He made a little snort. “The fucking Red Roof, Grey. What did you think, they’d send us to the Ritz?”
    They
? Grey thought. Who were
they
? And what did Ignacio mean by “send”? Send for what purpose? Which was the moment Grey noticed that Ignacio was clutching something in his hand. A pistol?
    “Iggy? What are you doing with that thing?”
    Ignacio lazily raised the gun, a long-barreled .45, frowning at it. “Not much, apparently.” He angled his head toward the door. “Those other guys were here for a while, too. But they’re all gone now.”
    “What guys?”
    “Come on, Grey. You know those guys. The skinny one, George. Eddie whatzisname. Jude, with the ponytail.” He looked past Grey toward the curtains. “Tell you the truth, I never did like him. I heard about the stuff he did, not that I’m anyone to talk. But that man, he was flat-out disgusting.”
    Ignacio was talking about the other sweeps. What were they all doing here? What was
he
doing here? The gun wasn’t a good sign, but Grey couldn’t call up a single memory of how he’d come to be where he was. The last thing he recalled was eating dinner in the compound cafeteria: beef bourguignon in a rich gravy, with a side of scalloped potatoes and green beans and a Cherry Coke to wash it all down. It was his favorite meal; he always looked forward to beef bourguignon. Though as he thought about it, its greasy taste, his stomach clamped with nausea. A squirt of bile shot up his throat. He had to take a moment just to breathe.
    Ignacio gave his pistol a halfhearted wave toward the door. “Look yourself if you want. But I’m pretty sure they’re gone.”
    Grey swallowed. “Gone where?”
    “That depends. Wherever they’re supposed to go.”
    Grey felt totally at sea. He couldn’t even figure out what questions to ask. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the answers, though. Maybe the best thing was to lie quietly. He hoped he hadn’t done something terrible, like in the old days. The days of the Old Grey.
    “Well,” Ignacio said, and cleared his throat, “as long as you’re awake, I guess I better be moving on. I’ve got a long walk ahead of me.” He rose and held out the gun. “Here.”
    Grey hesitated. “What do I want a gun for?”
    “In case you feel like, you know, shooting yourself.”
    Grey was too stunned to reply. The last thing he wanted was a gun. Somebody found a gun on him, they’d send him back to prison for sure. When he made no move to accept the weapon, Ignacio placed it on the bedside table.
    “Give it some thought, anyway. Just don’t drag your feet like I did. It gets harder the longer you wait. Now look at the fix I’m in.”
    Ignacio moved to the door, where he turned to cast his gaze a final time around the room.
    “We really did it. In case you were, you know, wondering.” He took a long breath, blowing out the air with puffed cheeks, and angled his face toward the ceiling. “Funny thing is, I really don’t see what I did to deserve this. I wasn’t