Hawkins Morgue... Chief Hopper and the parents of the missing children were studying the parts of a body the coroner showed them through a glass partition, trying to decide from those features whether the corpse belonged to their child.
But in the face of this spectacle neither couple could bear to look. Just seeing their own child lying bloodless on the cold steel table, poked and prodded like pork, was agony. They hid their faces or clutched one another, unable to watch.
Chief Hopper squinted at the scene, thinking, This autopsy procedure is even stranger. At this point the next of kin still aren't allowed any closer? By every rule of decency the parents ought to be able to touch the body, yet they can only view it through glass.
The claim was that a forensic autopsy was needed for final confirmation, so no one could touch the corpse yet. That excuse might fool the grief-blinded families, but it made no sense.
Hopper wanted to storm in and smash the fake corpses on the spot, force the bereaved parents to see that the bodies in the morgue weren't their children. But a glance at the guards and state troopers watching him warned Hopper not to move; he couldn't fight them all.
Just as he abandoned the reckless impulse, a terrified scream came from inside the morgue. Everyone turned to see both corpses swell grotesquely, as though gas were being pumped into them.
The onlookers stared, stunned. The once-lifelike silicone skin now looked anything but real, ballooning like over-inflated toys. The fabric stretched until it turned translucent, revealing wads of cotton batting inside.
By now even the dullest parent sensed something was wrong. Troy's aristocratic mother cried, "That isn't my son! It isn't even a body—what is going on here?"
The guards and troopers looked equally bewildered. The corpses-turned-balloons had caught them off guard. Inside the morgue the coroner backed against a freezer as the expanding dummies pinned him; another step and he would have to climb inside.
Bang!
Two thunderous blasts followed. The silicone shells burst, showering the room with shards. Cotton snowed through the air like flurries.
The parents shrieked. Though no blood splattered, the shock rivaled that of a real explosion.
Chaos erupted; screams overlapped.
Outside, the town's reporters heard the commotion. Sensing a headline, they flushed with excitement.
'Who's that?' one sharp-eyed journalist exclaimed. A strange figure had appeared in the entrance hall.
A motorcycle helmet hid every feature, but the build and clothes suggested a little girl.
Why would a helmeted child be here?
She stood with one arm outstretched toward the doorway. Inside, people noticed the shadow of a girl whose raised palm aimed straight at the exploded dummies.
Chief Hopper's pupils contracted the instant he recognized her, yet he bit back Eleven's name. Why is she here? raced through his mind.
'Don't move!' Federal agents led by Connie Frazier, morgue guards, and state troopers surrounded her at once.
Hopper's pulse pounded; his hand closed on his holstered pistol.
Vroooom!
At that critical instant a motorcycle roared at the intersection beyond the doors. A black-clad rider wearing an identical helmet gunned the engine atop a slope, drawing every eye.
Boom!
Without slowing, the bike leapt from the incline and rocketed forward.
Reporters scattered to avoid the speeding machine.
Screeeech!
The gate arm rose as though yanked by invisible hands, letting the motorcycle thunder through the crowd and into the morgue.
While everyone stared at the rider, Eleven flicked her head. Every gun pointing at her or the cyclist bent backward with the soldiers' arms—crack, crack, crack—guns clattered amid howls of pain.
The rider skidded to a stop in front of Eleven. An unseen force steadied the bike and its reckless driver.
She surveyed the agents writhing on the floor, sniffed, then swung onto the pillion, arms around the rider's waist. Together they roared out, scattering flyers into the flashing cameras.
'Woohoo!' A man's and a girl's voices rang through the street like swashbuckling outlaws.
Cameras fired; reporters snatched the leaflets: fakebody. nolie.
The press surged inside, shooting the cotton-strewn morgue, the stunned families, the bewildered guards.
Chief Hopper stared, half laughing under his breath. 'You two are unbelievable...'
'Thrilling?' Richard shouted over the wind as the bike left town.
'Thrilling!' Eleven answered, face glowing inside her helmet.
'Plenty more excitement coming—stay hyped!' He laughed, veered into the woods.
'What next?' she asked eagerly.
Richard: 'Use your power to stop the bike—I'm not great at riding.'
Eleven: '???'