Free Death Watch by Jack Cavanaugh Page B

he went that long without a bath his head and beard got itchy to the point of distraction.
    Pockets of people stood around and, like him, watched what was going on. They paid little attention to each other, and no attention to Billy. They were all waiting for something to happen. Apparentlythis unexpected episode of reality TV on their own block was better than the West Wing rerun that was on tonight.
    Just then, camera lights switched on and the house across the street lit up like it was some kind of Hollywood premiere. Billy half expected to see Tom Cruise or Nicole Kidman walk in front of the cameras and wave. But all he saw was an old woman carrying a coffee cup, standing cross-armed and looking angry at what was going on.
    Then the lights went off.
    Just a test, apparently.
    Billy had to blink a couple of times to get his night vision back. He looked at his watch, a cheap digital that had a pink strap and Tinkerbell on the face.
    10:03 p.m.
    T here was no descending ball to mark the last minute. No one gathered in Times Square. No one had any idea where Dick Clark was at the moment, nor did they care. All eyes were on Lyle Vandeveer, retired machinist and model railroad hobbyist.
    10:04 p.m. and thirty seconds.
    Vandeveer was smiling. “Never felt better,” he said.
    The paramedics nodded. All indicators were good.
    Hunz Vonner had pulled a chair from the kitchen. One of the paramedics had set a piece of equipment on the workbench stool he’d sat on earlier. Hunz was leaning forward, arms on his legs, staring intently at Lyle Vandeveer.
    Sydney held Lyle’s hand.
    10:04 p.m. and forty-five seconds.
    “You’re going to give a lot of people hope tonight, Lyle,” Sydney said.
    Lyle gave her a sheepish grin. “Seems silly, doesn’t it? I haven’t done nothing but sit in my chair.”
    Ten seconds.
    A paramedic started counting down. “Ten, nine, eight. ”
    Sydney caught his eye and shook her head.
    He stopped.
    Everyone watched the clock on the wall, the one that hung over Lyle Vandeveer’s peaceful valley like a huge sun—everyone except for the paramedic who had his hand on Lyle’s wrist pulse. His eyes were on his watch.
    Three seconds.
    Two seconds.
    One.
    10:05 p.m.
    For a moment, everyone held their breath.
    Lyle grinned. “Made it,” he said.
    Hunz Vonner clapped a single clap. “Excellent!” he said, jumping out of his seat. “I’ll notify the station.” He pulled out his cell phone and strode into the kitchen.
    Sydney fought tears. All she could think of was the pain Lyle had endured all his life. The guy deserved a break and tonight he got one. She gave him a hug.
    Lyle Vandeveer blushed.
    “After a hug like that from such a pretty woman,” he said, “I could die a happy man.”
    A machine alarm sounded.
    A queer expression came over Lyle Vandeveer’s face. He jerked stiff. His back arched.
    “I don’t believe this!” one of the paramedics cried.
    Sydney took a step back. “What’s happening?”
    Hunz ran in from the kitchen. He caught sight of Lyle Vandeveer—limp now, for a moment his eyes wide with surprise, then expressionless, staring emptily at the ceiling.
    “No!” Hunz shouted.
    With a sinking feeling, Sydney watched as the paramedics shocked, pounded, and injected Lyle Vandeveer with medicines to keep him alive. Their efforts were useless.
    Lyle Vandeveer was dead.
    “Ten-oh-five exactly,” said the paramedic.
    “No,” Sydney cried. “We all watched. It was .
    “Ten-oh-five exactly,” the paramedic repeated. He held up a fist and tapped his wristwatch. “Atomic. Linked to the Naval Observatory in Colorado. Mr. Vandeveer’s clock is thirty seconds fast.”

CHAPTER TEN
    H unz Vonner thrust his cell phone at Sydney. “Rosenthal,” he said.
    “Sydney? This is Sol. We’re going to lead with your story tonight. Grant will introduce it, then we’ll cut live to your location. Look, Sydney, we’re going to have Vonner do the report.”
    Before she had time to object,