sk.dreamcatcher-第109部分

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And　I'll　tell。　They'll　make　me　tell。　And　then　I'll…
　　　　His　hand　rose　in　front　of　his　eyes。　The　first　two　fingers；　coated　with　dried　blood　up　to　the　second　knuckles；　were　poked　out　and　hooked。　They　were　trembling。　To　Deke；　they　almost　looked　like　they　were　waving。　Hello　eyes；　how　you　doing？　Enjoy　looking　while　you　can；　because　we'll　be　ing　for　you　soon。
　　　　The　person　in　the　back　of　the　Humvee　leaned　forward；　seemed　to　say　something　to　the　driver；　and　the　vehicle　leaped　backward；　one　rear　wheel　splashing　through　the　puddle　of　vomit　left　by　the　store's　last　customer。　It　wheeled　around　on　the　road；　paused　for　just　a　moment；　then　set　off　in　the　direction　of　Ware　and　the　Quabbin。
　　　　When　they　disappeared　over　the　first　hill；　Deke　McCaskell　began　to　weep。　As　he　walked　back　toward　the　counter　（staggering　and　weaving　but　still　on　his　feet）；　his　gaze　fell　on　the　teeth　lying　on　the　floor。　Three　teeth。　His。　A　small　price　to　pay。　Oh　yes；　teeny　dues。　Then　he　stopped；　gazing　at　the　three　dollar　bills　which　still　lay　on　the　counter。　They　had　grown　a　coating　of　pale　red…orange　fuzz。


22

'Oht　ear！　Eep　owen！'
　　　　Owen；　that's　me；　Owen　thought　wearily；　but　he　understood　Duddits　well　enough　（it　wasn't　that　hard；　once　your　ear　had　bee　attuned）：　Not　here！　Keep　going！
　　　　Owen　reversed　the　Humvee　to　Route　32　as　Duddits　sat　back　…　collapsed　back　…　and　began　to　cough　again。
　　　　'Look；'　Henry　said；　and　pointed。　'See　that？'
　　　　Owen　saw。　A　bunch　of　wrappers　soaking　into　the　ground　under　the　force　of　the　pelting　downpour。　And　a　jar　of　mayonnaise。　He　threw　the　Hummer　back　into　drive　and　headed　north。　The　rain　hitting　the　windshield　had　a　particularly　fat　quality　that　he　recognized：　soon　it　would　turn　back　to　sleet；　and　then　…　very　likely　…　to　snow。　Close　to　exhausted　now；　and　queerly　sad　in　the　wake　of　the　telepathy's　withdrawing　wave；　Owen　found　that　his　chief　regret　was　having　to　die　on　such　a　dirty　day。
　　　　'How　far　ahead　is　he　now？'　Owen　asked；　not　daring　to　ask　the　real　question；　the　only　one　that　mattered：　Are　we　already　too　late？　He　assumed　that　Henry　would　tell　him；　were　that　the　case。
　　　　'He's　there；'　Henry　said　absently。　He　had　turned　around　in　the　seat　and　was　wiping　Duddits's　face　with　a　damp　cloth。　Duddits　looked　at　him　gratefully　and　tried　to　smile。　His　ashy　cheeks　were　sweaty　now；　and　the　black　patches　under　his　eyes　had　spread；　turning　them　into　raccoon　s　eyes。
　　　　'If　he's　there；　why　did　we　have　to　e　here？'　Owen　asked。　He　had　the　Hummer　up　to　seventy；　very　dangerous　on　this　slick　stretch　of　two…lane　blacktop；　but　now　there　was　no　choice。
　　　　'I　didn't　want　to　risk　Duddits　losing　the　line；'　Henry　said。　'If　that　happens　。　。　。'
　　　　Duddits　uttered　a　vast　groan；　wrapped　his　arms　around　his　midsection；　and　doubled　over　them。　Henry；　still　kneeling　on　the　seat；　stroked　the　slender　column　of　his　neck。
　　　　'Take　it　easy；　Duds；'　Henry　said。　'You're　all　right。'
　　　　But　he　wasn't。　Owen　knew　it　and　so　did　Henry。　Feverish；　crampy　in　spite　of　a　second　Prednisone　pill　and　two　more　Percocets；　now　spraying　blood　every　time　he　coughed；　Duddits　Cavell　was　several　country　miles　from　all　right。　The　consolation　prize　was　that　the　Jonesy…Gray　bination　was　also　a　very　long　way　from　all　right。
　　　　It　was　the　bacon。　All　they'd　hoped　to　do　was　to　make　Mr　Gray　stop　for　awhile；　none　of　them　had　guessed　how　prodigious　his　gluttony　would　turn　out　to　be。　The　effect　on　Jonesy's　digestion　had　been　fairly　predictable。　Mr　Gray　had　vomited　once　in　the　parking　lot　of　the　little　store；　and　had　had　to　pull　over　twice　more　on　the　road　to　Ware；　leaning　out　the　window　and　offloading　several　pounds　of　raw　bacon　with　almost　convulsive　force。
　　　　Diarrhea　came　next。　He　had　stopped　at　the　Mobil　on　Route　9；　southeast　of　Ware；　and　had　barely　made　it　into　the　men's　room。　The　sign　outside　the　station　read　CHEAP　GAS　　　　CLEAN　TOILETS；　but　the　CLEAN　TOILETS　part　was　certainly　out　of　date　by　the　time　Mr　Gray　left。　He　didn't　kill　anyone　at　the　Mobil；　which　Henry　counted　as　a　plus。
　　　　Before　turning　onto　the　Quabbin　access　road；　Mr　Gray　had　needed　to　stop　twice　more　and　dash　into　the　sopping　woods；　where　he　tried　to　evacuate　Jonesy's　groaning　bowels。　By　then　the　rain　had　changed　over　to　huge　flakes　of　wet　snow。　Jonesy's　body　had　weakened　considerably；　and　Henry　was　hoping　for　a　faint。　So　far　it　hadn't　happened。
　　　　Mr　Gray　was　furious　with　Jonesy；　railing　at　him　continuously　by　the　time　he　slipped　back　behind　the　wheel　of　the　car　after　his　second　trip　into　the　woods。　This　was　all　Jonesy's　fault；　Jonesy　had　trapped　him。　He　chose　to　ignore　his　own　hunger　and　the　pulsive　greed　with　which　he　had　eaten；　pausing　between　bites　only　to　lick　the　grease　from　his　fingers。　Henry　had　seen　such　selective　arrangements　of　the　facts　…　emphasizing　some；　ignoring　others　pletely　…　many　times　before；　in　his　patients。　In　some　ways；　Mr　Gray　was　Barry　Newman　all　over　again。
　　　　How　human　he's　being；　he　thought。　How　curiously　human。
　　　　'When　you　say　he's　there；'　Owen　asked；　'just　how　there　do　you　mean？'
　　　　'I　don't　know。　He's　closed　down　again；　at　least　pretty　much。　Duddits；　do　you　hear　Jonesy？'
　　　　Duddits　looked　at　Henry　wearily；　then　shook　his　head。　'Isser　Ay　ookar　cards；'　he　said　…　Mr　Gray　took　our　cards　…　but　that　was　like　a　literal　translation　of　a　slang　phrase。　Duddits　hadn't　the　vocabulary　to　express　what　had　actually　happened；　but　Henry　could　read　it　in　his　mind。　Mr　Gray　was　unable　to　enter　Jonesy's　office　stronghold　and　take　the　playing　cards；　but　he　had　somehow　turned　them　all　blank。
　　　　'Duddits；　how　are　you　making　out？'　Owen　said；　looking　into　the　rearview　mirror。
　　　　'I　o…ay；'　Duddits　said；　and　immediately　began　to　shiver。　On　his　lap　was　his　yellow　lunchbox　and　the　brown　bag　with　his　medicines　in　it　。　。　。　his　medicines　and　that　odd　little　string　thing。　Surrounding　him　was　the　voluminous　blue　duffel　coat；　yet　inside　it；　he　still　shivered。
　　　　He's　going　fast；　Owen　thought；　as　Henry　began　to　swab　his　old　friend's　face　again。
　　　　The　Humvee　skidded　on　a　slick　patch；　danced　on　the　edge　of　disaster　…　a　crash　at　seventy　miles　an　hour　would　probably　kill　them　all；　and　even　if　it　didn't；　it　would　put　paid　to　any　final　thin　chance　they　might　have　of　stopping　Mr　Gray　…　and　then　came　back　under　control　again。
　　　　Owen　found　his　eyes　drifting　back　to　the　paper　bag；　his　mind　going　again　to　that　string…thing。　Beaver　sent　to　me。　For　my　Christmas　last　week。　　
　　　　Trying　to　municate　now　by　telepathy　was；　Owen　thought；　like　putting　a　message　into　a　bottle　and　then　tossing　the　bottle　into　the　ocean。　But　he　did　it　anyway；　sending　out　a　thought　in　what　he　hoped　was　Duddits's　direction：　What　do　you　call　it；　son？
　　　　Suddenly　and　unexpectedly；　he　saw　a　large　space；　bination　living　room；　dining　room；　and　kitchen。　The　mellow　pine　boards　glowed　with　varnish。　There　was　a　Navajo　rug　on　the　floor　and　a　tapestry　on　one　wall　…　tiny　Indian　hunters　surrounding　a　gray　figure；　the　archetypal　alien　of　a　thousand　supermarket　tabloids。　There　was　a　fireplace；　a　stone　chimney；　an　oak　dining　table。　But　what　riveted　Owen's　attention　（it　had　to；　it　was　at　the　center　of　the　picture　Duddits　had　sent　him；　and　glowed　with　its　own　special　light）　was　the　string　creation　which　hung　from　the　center　rafter。　It　was　the　Cadillac　version　of　the　one　in　Duddits's　medicine　bag；　woven　in　bright　colors　instead　of　drab　white　string；　but　otherwise　the　same。　Owen's　eyes　filled　with　tears。　It　was　the　most　beautiful　room　in　the　world。　He　felt　that　way　because　Duddits　felt　that　way。　And　Duddits　felt　that　way　because　it　was　where　his　friends　went；　and　he　loved　them。
　　　　'Dreamcatcher；'　said　the　dying　man　in　the　back　seat；　and　he　pronounced　the　word　perfectly。
　　　　Owen　nodded。　Dreamcatcher；　yes。
　　　　It's　you；　he　sent；　supposing　that　Henry　was　overhearing　but　not　caring　one　way　or　the　other。　This　message　was　for　Duddits；　strictly　for　Duddits。　You're　the　dreamcatcher；　aren't　you？　Their　dreamcatcher。　You　always　were。
　　　　In　the　mirror；　Duddits　smiled。


23

They　passed　a　sign　which　read　QUABBIN　RESERVOIR　8　MILES　　　NO　FISHING　　　NO　SERVICES　　　PICNIC　AREA　OPEN　　　HIKING　TRAILS　OPEN　　　PASS　AT　OWN　RISK。　There　was　more；　but　at　eighty　miles　an　hour；　Henry　had　no　time　to　read　it。
　　　　'Any　chance　he'll　park　and　walk　in？'　Owen　asked。
　　　　'Don't　even　hope　for　it；'　Henry　said。　'He'll　drive　as　far　as　he　can。　Maybe　he'll　get　stuck。　That's　what　you　want　to　hope　for。　There's　a　good　chance　it　might　happen。　And　he's　weak。　He　won't　be　able　to　move　fast。'
　　　　'What　about　you；　Henry？　Will　you　be　able　to　move　fast？'
　　　　Considering　how　stiff　he　was　and　how　badly　his　legs　ached；　that　was　a　fair　question。　'If　there's　a　chance；'　he　said；　'I'll　go　as　hard　as　I　can。　In　any　case；　there's　Duddits。　I　don't　think　he's　going　to　be　capable　of　a　very　strenuous　hike。'
　　　　Any　hike　at　all；　he　didn't　add。
　　　　'Kurtz　and　Freddy　and　Perlmutter；　Henry。　How　far　back　are　they？'
　　　　Henry　considered　this。　He　could　feel　Perlmutter　clearly　enough　。　。　。　and　he　could　touch　the　ravening　cannibal　inside　him；　as　well。　It　was　like　Mr　Gray；　only　the　weasel　was　living　in　a　world　made　of　bacon。　The　bacon　was　Archibald　Perlmutter；　once　a　captain　in　the　United　States　Army。　Henry　didn't　like　to　go　there。　Too　much　pain。　Too　much　hunger。
　　　　'Fifteen　miles；'　he　said。　'Maybe　only　twelve。　But　it　doesn't　matter；　Owen。　We're　going　to　beat　them。　The　only　question　is　whether　or　not　we're　going　to　catch　Mr　Gray。　We'll　need　some　luck。　Or　some　help。'
　　　　'And　if　we　catch　him；　Henry。　Are　we　still　going　to　be　heroes？'
　　　　Henry　gave　him　a　tired　smile。　'I　guess　we'll　have　to　try。'

CHAPTER　TWENTY…ONE

SHAFT　12


1

Mr　Gray　drove　the　Subaru　nearly　three　miles　up　East　Street　…　muddy；　rutted；　and　now　covered　with　three　inches　of　fresh　snow　…　before　crashing　into　a　fault　caused　by　a　plugged　culvert。　The　Subaru　had　fought　its　way　gamely　through　several　mires　north　of　the　Goodnough　Dike；　and　had　bottomed　out　in　one　place　hard　enough　to　tear　off　the　muffler　and　most　of　the　exhaust　pipe；　but　this　latest　break　in　the　road　was　too　much。　The　car　went　forward　nose…first　into　the　crack　and　lodged　on　the　pipe；　unmuffled　engine　blatting　stridently。　Jonesy's　body　was　thrown　forward　and　the　seatbelt　locked。　His　diaphragm　clenched　and　he　vomited　helplessly　onto　the　dashboard：　nothing　solid　now；　only　bilious　str