11

Steve noticed it first. The city maintenance vehicle was gone, the monolithic cherry-picker with it. On the hill, the traffic lights blinked steadily. But they were blinking. Which meant....

"Look." Matt directed our attention to the one of the lamps outside of the Snack Shack. It was lit.

We scrambled inside, past lockers and student mailboxes, into the Shack. Several food service staff were already prepping machines that had jolted back to life. The few students inside looked bewildered, like they'd never seen artificial light before. Steve pulled out a chair and sat as I switched through the channels on the large TV set in the front of the Shack. Matt stood next to him, keeping oddly still and stiff.

I found the local news on one of the network stations. They were winding up the news blurbs they would cover in the 5 o'clock block, cameras switching to give a puppet-show effect of the three anchors poised symmetrically.

The top story was the murder. "Police in New Dordrecht continue to investigate yesterday's murder on the Oakholm campus," the male anchor dictated. "Though no suspects have been produced, hopes are high." The screen cut to a rain-backed shot of a balding man, mugging the camera. "We're making, uh, some swift progress here." A twitch in the camera brought a few campus buildings into background. "We have some good leads. Good leads, and, uh, some--and we hope to have a suspect in custody before the week's end."

The newsroom facade returned to the screen. "New Dordrecht was among several other towns affected by last night's power-outage, but thankfully students are taking it well." Another shot of a student."

"Guy?" Matt nearly doubled over.

Guy stared at the microphone in front of him while speaking. "Classes were canceled, but it seems like, you know, spirits are high." A quick cut bypassed the next question and made it look like Guy was a twitching hologram. "I'm sure the police will solve it soon; it shouldn't affect life on campus. I mean, why try to play detective when someone is getting paid for it?"

Steve made a moaning noise, and Matt looked at me. "What was...? I mean, what? He just--"

One of the female anchors took over, talking more about the damage caused by the power outage. I turned the volume down significantly. "What do you think?"

"Other than 'Guy is a traitor'?"

"Yeah."

Matt straightened himself out again, reaching out to shut off the television. "I don't know." He looked over toward the big windows.

"Do you believe the cops?"

"Do I--" he drifted his attention back to me. "Sure. Why not?"

I looked to Steve for some support; his head was still buried in his cupped hands. "Isn't that the standard line the police use?"

Matt's mouth lengthened, eyes narrowed. "We really can't much else, man. We got the 'how' portion. That's it. We don't have the resources or ability that the police have. Like, I mean--they actually have enough manpower to scour the county, dust for prints, the works. We can sneak on roofs with binoculars. Big deal."

I started saying something but stopped. I didn't know what I wanted to say. Steve kept up the palm inspection.

"I guess we did what we could," Matt said.

And Guy walked in, stopped with his mouth half-open, a sentence forming on his lips like water pooling at the drooping tip of a leaf. "Hey," he managed.

We didn't say anything, our eyes and unwilling ears readied on him.

"I'm quitting." He paused. "I'm quitting the band."

Matt responded with a succinct "OK" before letting his eyes swivel elsewhere. Guy turned on one foot and marched away, his mouth swinging back into a Nutcracker impersonation.

Steve--head still cradled--said in a soft monotone, "I'm not entirely sure what just happened."

"We need to find a new drummer."

"Who?"

"Most of the ones I know are either in a band already," Matt explained, "or just terrible."

"Or terrible and in a band."

"That too. We could--" Matt looked at his hands, his fingers, moving them slowly to see if they were actually responding.

I cleared my throat a little. "I could drum."

Matt continued flexing fingers, first his pointer, then pinky; he tried flexing them together without moving the others. It worked, but his ring finger was shaking. He looked up, like he heard someone shouting beyond a far hill. "What?"

"Me. I can drum."

"I didn't know you played drums."

"I do. I'm rusty, but...."

"We'll only have one guitar, then."

"Better than no drums, right?"

Matt conceded the point. Steve finally picked his head up, his face slightly red and his eyes out of focus after spelunking for so long. Matt looked up at the lights. "I guess we might as well take advantage of the electricity, you know?"