sk.dreamcatcher-第114部分

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　　　　The　Hummer's　windows　were　already　glazing　over　with　snow；　but　he　could　see　the　dim　shapes　of　the　two　men　in　the　rear　seat　as　he　passed　back　along　the　body　of　the　vehicle；　trotting　now。　Still　locked　in　each　other's　arms。　'Goodbye；　boys；'　he　said。　'Sleep　well。'　And　with　any　luck　they　would　still　be　sleeping　when　Kurtz　and　Freddy　arrived；　putting　an　end　to　their　lives　before　moving　on　after　their　main　quarry。　
　　　　Owen　stopped　suddenly；　skidding　in　the　snow　and　grabbing　the　Humvee's　long　hood　to　keep　from　falling。　Duddits　was　clearly　a　lost　cause；　but　he　might　be　able　to　save　Henry　Devlin。　It　was　just　possible。
　　　　No！　part　of　his　mind　screamed　as　he　started　back　for　the　rear　door。　No；　there's　no　time！
　　　　But　Owen　decided　to　gamble　that　there　was　…　to　gamble　the　whole　world。　Maybe　to　pay　a　little　more　on　what　he　owed　for　the　Rapeloews'　plate；　maybe　for　what　he　had　done　yesterday　（those　naked　gray　figures　standing　around　their　downed　ship　with　their　arms　held　up；　as　if　in　surrender）；　probably　just　for　Henry；　who　had　told　him　they　would　be　heroes　and　who　had　tried　splendidly　to　fulfill　that　promise。
　　　　No　sympathy　for　the　devil；　he　thought；　wrenching　open　the　rear　door。　No　sir；　zero　sympathy　for　that　motherfucker。
　　　　Duddits　was　closer。　Owen　seized　him　by　the　collar　of　his　big　blue　duffel　coat　and　yanked。　Duddits　toppled　sideways　onto　the　seat。　His　hat　fell　off；　revealing　his　shining　bald　skull。　Henry；　with　his　arms　still　around　Duddits's　shoulders；　came　with　him；　landing　on　top。　His　eyes　didn't　open　but　he　groaned　softly。　Owen　leaned　forward　and　whispered　fiercely　into　Henry's　ear。
　　　　；　Don't　sit　up。　For　the　love　of　God；　Henry；　don't　you　sit　up！'
　　　　Owen　withdrew；　slammed　the　door；　backed　off　three　steps；　placed　the　butt　of　the　rifle　against　his　hip；　and　fired　a　burst。　The　Humvee's　windows　turned　to　milk；　then　fell　in。　Casings　clinked　around　Owen's　feet。　He　stepped　forward　again　and　looked　through　the　shattered　window　into　the　rear　seat。　Henry　and　Duddits　still　lay　there；　now　covered　with　crumbles　of　Saf…T…Glas　as　well　as　Duddits's　blood；　and　to　Owen　they　looked　like　the　two　deadest　people　he　had　ever　seen。　Owen　hoped　Kurtz　would　be　in　too　much　of　a　hurry　for　a　close　examination。　In　any　case；　he　had　done　the　best　he　could。
　　　　He　heard　a　hard　metallic　jouncing　sound　and　grinned。　That　placed　Kurtz；　by　God　…　they'd　reached　the　washout　where　the　Subaru　had　finished　up。　He　wished　mightily　that　Kurtz　and　Freddy　had　rear…ended　the　fucking　thing；　but　the　sound　had　not；　unfortunately；　been　that　loud。　Still；　it　placed　them。　A　mile　back；　a　mile　back　at　least。　Not　as　bad　as　he'd　thought。　　
　　　　'Plenty　of　time；'　he　muttered；　and　that　might　be　true　of　Kurtz；　but　what　about　the　other　end？　Where　was　Mr　Gray　now？
　　　　Holding　the　MP5　by　the　strap；　Owen　started　down　the　path　that　led　to　Shaft　12。


14

Mr　Gray　had　discovered　another　unlovely　human　emotion：　panic。　He　had　e　all　this　way　…　light…years　through　space；　miles　through　the　snow　…　to　be　balked　by　Jonesy's　muscles；　which　were　weak　and　out　of　shape；　and　the　iron　shaft　cover；　which　was　much　heavier　than　he　had　expected。　He　yanked　down　on　the　crowbar　until　Jonesy's　back…muscles　screamed　in　agonized　protest　。　。　。　and　was　finally　rewarded　by　a　brief　wink　of　darkness　from　beneath　the　edge　of　the　rusty　iron。　And　a　grinding　sound　as　it　moved　a　bit　…　perhaps　no　more　than　an　inch　or　two　…　on　the　concrete。　Then　Jonesy's　lower　back　muscles　locked　up　and　Mr　Gray　staggered　away　from　the　shaft；　crying　out　through　clenched　teeth　（thanks　to　his　immunity；　Jonesy　still　had　a　full　set　of　them）　and　pressing　his　hands　to　the　base　of　Jonesy's　spine；　as　if　to　keep　it　from　exploding。
　　　　Lad　let　out　a　series　of　yipping　whines。　Mr　Gray　looked　at　him　and　saw　that　things　had　now　reached　the　critical　juncture。　Although　he　was　still　asleep；　Lad's　abdomen　was　now　so　grotesquely　swelled　that　one　of　his　legs　stuck　stiffly　up　in　the　air。　The　skin　of　his　lower　belly　had　stretched　to　the　point　of　splitting；　and　the　veins　there　pulsed　with　clocklike　rapidity。　A　trickle　of　bright　blood　spilled　out　from　beneath　his　tall。
　　　　Mr　Gray　looked　balefully　at　the　crowbar　jutting　from　the　slot　in　the　iron　cover。　In　Jonesy's　imagination；　the　Russian　woman　had　been　a　slim　beauty　with　dark　hair　and　dark　tragic　eyes。　In　reality；　Mr　Gray　thought；　she　must　have　been　broad…shouldered　and　muscular。　How　else　could　she　have…
　　　　There　was　a　blast　of　gunfire；　alarmingly　close。　Mr　Gray　gasped　and　looked　around。　Thanks　to　Jonesy；　the　human　corrosion　of　doubt　was　also　part　of　his　makeup　now；　and　for　the　first　time　he　realized　that　he　might　be　balked　…　yes；　even　here；　so　close　to　his　goal　that　he　could　hear　it；　the　sound　of　rushing　water　starting　on　its　sixty…mile　underground　journey。　And　all　that　stood　between　the　byrum　and　this　whole　world　was　a　circular　iron　plate　weighing　a　hundred　and　twenty　pounds。
　　　　Screaming　a　thin　and　desperate　litany　of　Beaver…curses；　Mr　Gray　rushed　forward；　Jonesy's　failing　body　jerking　back　and　forth　on　the　defective　pivot…point　of　its　right　hip。　One　of　them　was　ing；　the　one　called　Owen；　and　Mr　Gray　dared　not　believe　he　could　make　this　Owen　turn　his　weapon　on　himself　Given　time；　given　the　element　of　surprise；　maybe。　Now　he　had　neither。　And　this　man　who　was　ing　had　been　trained　to　kill；　it　was　his　career。
　　　　Mr　Gray　leaped　into　the　air。　There　was　a　snap；　quite　audible；　as　Jonesy's　overstressed　hip　broke　free　of　the　swollen　socket　which　had　held　it。　Mr　Gray　landed　on　the　crowbar　with　Jonesy's　full　weight。　The　edge　lifted　again；　and　this　time　the　cover　slid　almost　a　foot　across　the　concrete。　The　black　crescent　through　which　the　Russian　woman　had　slipped　appeared　again。　Not　much　of　a　crescent；　really　no　more　than　a　delicate　capital　C　drawn　with　a　calligrapher's　pen　but　enough　for　the　dog。
　　　　Jonesy's　leg　would　no　longer　support　Jonesy's　weight　（and　where　was　Jonesy；　anyway？　Still　not　a　murmur　from　his　troublesome　host）；　but　that　was　all　right。　Crawling　would　do　now。
　　　　Mr　Gray　worked　his　way　in　such　fashion　across　the　cold　cement　floor　to　where　the　sleeping　border　collie　lay；　seized　Lad　by　his　collar；　and　began　to　drag　him　back　to　Shaft　12。


15

The　Hall　of　Memories　…　that　vast　repository　of　boxes　…　is　also　on　the　verge　of　shaking　itself　apart。　The　floor　shudders　as　if　in　the　grip　of　an　endless　slow　earthquake。　Overhead；　the　fluorescents　flicker　on　and　off；　giving　the　place　a　stuttery；　hallucinatory　look。　In　places　tall　stacks　of　cartons　have　fallen　over；　blocking　some　of　the　corridors。
　　　　Jonesy　runs　as　best　he　can；　He　moves　from　corridor　to　corridor；　threading　his　way　through　this　maze　purely　on　instinct。　He　tells　himself　repeatedly　to　ignore　the　goddam　hip；　he　is　nothing　but　mind　now；　anyway；　but　he　might　as　well　be　an　amputee　trying　to　convince　his　missing　limb　to　stop　throbbing。
　　　　He　runs　past　boxes　marked　AUSTRO…HUNGARIAN　WAR　and　DEPARTMENTAL　POLITICS　and　CHILDREN'S　STORIES　and　CONTENTS　OF　UPSTAIRS　CLOSET。　He　hurdles　a　pile　of　tumbled　boxes　marked　CARLA；　es　down　on　his　bad　leg；　and　screams　at　the　pain。　He　clutches　more　boxes　（these　marked　GETTYSBURG）　in　order　to　keep　from　falling；　and　at　last　sees　the　far　side　of　the　storage　room。　Thank　God；　it　seems　to　him　that　he　has　run　miles。
　　　　The　door　is　marked　ICU　and　QUIET　PLEASE　and　NO　VISITORS　W/O　PASS。　And　that　is　right；　this　is　where　they　took　him；　this　is　where　he　had　awakened　and　heard　crafty　old　Mr　Death　pretending　to　call　for　Marcy。
　　　　Jonesy　bangs　through　the　door　and　into　another　world；　one　he　recognizes：　the　blue…over…white　ICU　corridor　where　he　took　his　first　painful；　tentative　steps　four　days　after　his　surgery。　He　stumbles　a　dozen　feet　down　the　tiled　corridor；　sees　the　splotches　of　byrus　growing　on　the　walls；　hears　the　Muzak；　which　is　decidedly　un…hospital…like；　although　it's　turned　low；　it　appears　to　be　the　Rolling　Stones　singing　'Sympathy　for　the　Devil'。
　　　　He　has　no　more　than　identified　this　song　when　his　hip　suddenly　goes　nuclear。　Jonesy　utters　a　surprised　scream　and　falls　to　the　black…and…red　ICU　tiles；　clutching　at　himself　This　is　how　it　was　Just　after　he　was　hit：　an　explosion　of　red　agony。　He　rolls　over　and　over；　looking　up　at　the　glowing　light…panels；　at　the　circular　speakers　from　which　the　music　（'Anastasia　screamed　in　vain'）　is　ing；　music　from　another　world；　when　the　pain　is　this　bad　everything　is　in　another　world；　pain　makes　a　shadow　of　substance　and　a　mockery　even　of　love；　that　is　something　he　learned　in　March　and　must　learn　again　now。　He　rolls　and　he　rolls；　hands　clutching　at　his　swollen　hip；　eyes　bulging；　mouth　pulled　back　in　a　vast　rictus；　and　he　knows　what　has　happened；　all　right：　Mr　Gray。　That　son　of　a　bitch　Mr　Gray　has　re…broken　his　hip。
　　　　Then；　from　far　away　in　that　other　world；　he　hears　a　voice　he　knows；　a　kid's　voice。
　　　　Jonesy！
　　　　Echoing；　distorted　。　。　。　but　not　that　far　away。　Not　this　corridor；　but　one　of　the　adjacent　ones。　Whose　voice？　One　of　his　own　kids？　John；　maybe？　No…
　　　　Jonesy；　you　have　to　hurry！　He's　ing　to　kill　you！　Owen　is　ing　to　kill　you！
　　　　He　doesn't　know　who　Owen　is；　but　he　knows　who　that　voice　belongs　to：　Henry　Devlin。　But　not　as　it　is　now；　or　as　it　was　when　he　last　saw　Henry；　going　off　to　Gosselin's　Market　with　Pete；　this　is　the　voice　of　the　Henry　he　grew　up　with；　the　one　who　told　Richie　Grenadeau　that　they'd　tell　on　him　if　he　didn't　stop；　that　Richie　and　his　friends　would　never　catch　Pete　because　Pete　ran　like　the　fucking　wind。
　　　　I　can't！　he　calls　back；　still　rolling　on　the　floor。　He　is　aware　that　something　has　changed；　is　still　changing；　but　not　what；　I　can't；　he　broke　my　hip　again；　the　son　of　a　bitch　broke…
　　　　And　then　he　realizes　what　is　happening　to　him：　the　pain　is　running　backward。　It's　like　watching　a　videotape　as　it　rewinds　…　the　milk　flows　up　from　the　glass　to　the　carton；　the　flower　which　should　be　blooming　through　the　miracle　of　time…lapse　photography　closes　up；　instead。
　　　　The　reason　is　obvious　when　he　looks　down　at　himself　and　sees　the　bright　orange　jacket　he's　wearing。　It's　the　one　his　mother　bought　him　in　Sears　for　his　first　hunting　trip　to　Hole　in　the　Wall；　the　trip　when　Henry　got　his　deer　and　they　all　killed　Richie　Grenadeau　and　his　friends　…　killed　them　with　a　dream；　maybe　not　meaning　to　but　doing　it　just　the　same。
　　　　He　has　bee　a　child　again；　a　kid　of　fo