sk.dreamcatcher-第36部分

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nd　no　visible　means　of　propulsion。　It　simply　hung　there　about　twenty　feet　above　the　powerlines；　emitting　a　deep　hum　that　buzzed　in　your　bones。　And　in　your　teeth；　it　seemed。　Both　of　the　hunters　claimed　to　have　lost　teeth；　although　when　they　opened　their　mouths　to　display　the　gaps；　Roberta　had　thought　the　rest　of　their　teeth　looked　ready　to　fall　out；　as　well。　The　hunters　had　been　in　an　old　Chevy　pickup；　and　when　they　tried　to　drive　closer　for　a　better　look；　their　engine　had　died。　One　of　the　men　had　a　battery…powered　watch　that　had　run　backward　for　about　three　hours　following　the　event　and　had　then　quit　for　good　（the　other's　watch；　the　old…fashioned　wind…up　kind；　had　been　fine）。　According　to　the　reporter；　a　number　of　other　hunters　and　area　residents　had　been　seeing　unidentified　flying　objects　…　some　cigar…shaped；　some　of　the　more　traditional　saucer　shape　…　for　the　last　week　or　so。　The　military　slang　for　such　an　outbreak　of　sightings；　the　reporter　said；　was　a　'flap'。
　　　　Missing　hunters；　UFOS。　Juicy；　and　certainly　good　enough　to　lead　with　on　Live　at　Six　（'Local！　Late…breaking！　Your　Town　and　Our　State！'）；　but　now　there　was　more。　There　was　worse。　Still　only　rumors；　to　be　sure；　and　Roberta　prayed　they　would　prove　to　be　untrue；　but　creepy　enough　to　have　kept　her　here　for　almost　two　hours　now；　drinking　too　much　coffee　and　growing　more　and　more　nervous。
　　　　The　scariest　rumors　clustered　around　reports　that　something　had　crash…landed　in　the　woods；　not　far　from　where　the　men　had　reported　the　cigar…shaped　craft　hovering　over　the　powerlines。　Almost　as　disquieting　were　reports　that　a　fairly　large　area　of　Aroostook　County；　perhaps　two　hundred　square　miles　mostly　owned　by　the　paper　panies　or　the　government；　had　been　quarantined。
　　　　A　tall；　pale　man　with　deep…set　eyes　spoke　briefly　to　reporters　at　the　Air　National　Guard　base　in　Bangor　（he　stood　in　front　of　a　sign　which　proclaimed　HOME　OF　THE　MANIACS）　and　said　that　none　of　the　rumors　were　true；　but　that　'a　number　of　conflicting　reports'　were　being　checked。　The　super　beneath　him　read　Simply　ABRAHAM　KURTZ。　Roberta　couldn't　tell　what　his　rank　was；　or　indeed　if　he　was　really　a　military　man　at　all。　He　was　dressed　in　a　simple　green　coverall　with　nothing　on　it　but　a　zipper。　If　he　was　cold　…　you　would　have　thought　so；　wearing　nothing　but　that　coverall　…　he　didn't　show　it。　There　was　something　in　his　eyes；　which　were　very　large　and　fringed　with　white　lashes；　that　Roberta　didn't　much　like。　They　looked　to　her　like　liar's　eyes。
　　　　'Can　you　at　least　confirm　that　the　downed　aircraft　is　neither　foreign　nor　。　。　。　nor　extraterrestrial　in　origin？'　a　reporter　asked。　He　sounded　young。
　　　　'ET　phone　home；'　Kurtz　said；　and　laughed。　There　was　laughter　from　most　of　the　other　reporters　as　well；　and　no　one　except　Roberta；　watching　the　clip　here　in　her　West　Derry　Acres　apartment；　seemed　to　realize　that　was　not　an　answer　at　all。
　　　　'Can　you　confirm　that　there　is　no　quarantine　in　the　area　of　the　Jefferson　Tract？'　another　reporter　asked。
　　　　'I　can　neither　confirm　nor　deny　that　at　this　time；'　Kurtz　said。　'We're　taking　this　matter　quite　seriously。　Your　government　dollars　are　working　very　hard　today；　ladies　and　gentlemen。'　He　then　walked　away　toward　a　helicopter　with　slowly　turning　rotors　and　ANG；　printed　on　the　side　in　big　white　letters。
　　　　That　clip　had　been　videotaped　at　9：45　A。M。；　according　to　the　news　anchor。　The　next　clip　…　shaky　footage　from　a　hand…held　video　camera　…　had　been　taken　from　a　Cessna　chartered　by　Channel　9　News　to　overfly　the　Jefferson　Tract。　The　air　had　obviously　been　bumpy　and　there　was　a　lot　of　snow；　but　not　enough　to　obscure　the　two　helicopters　which　had　appeared　and　flanked　the　Cessna　on　either　side　like　big　brown　dragonflies。　There　was　a　radio　transmission；　so　blurry　that　Roberta　needed　to　read　the　transcript　printed　in　yellow　at　the　bottom　of　the　TV　screen：　'This　area　is　interdicted。　You　are　ordered　to　turn　back　to　your　point　of　flight　origination。　Repeat；　this　area　is　interdicted。　Turn　back。'
　　　　Did　interdicted　mean　the　same　as　quarantined？　Roberta　Cavell　thought　it　probably　did；　although　she　also　thought　fellows　like　that　man　Kurtz　might　quibble。　The　letters　on　the　flanking　helicopters　were　clearly　visible：　ANG。　One　of　them　might　have　been　the　very　one　that　took　Abraham　Kurtz　north。
　　　　Cessna　pilot：　'Under　whose　orders　is　this　operation　being　carried　out？'
　　　　Radio：　'Turn　back；　Cessna；　or　you　will　be　forced　to　turn　back。'　The　Cessna　had　turned　back。　It　had　been　low　on　fuel　anyway；　the　news　anchor　reported；　as　if　that　explained　everything。　Since　then　they　had　just　been　rehashing　the　same　stuff　and　calling　it　updates。　The　major　networks　supposedly　had　correspondents　en　route。
　　　　She　was　getting　up　to　turn　the　TV　off　…　watching　had　begun　to　make　her　nervous　…　when　Duddits　screamed。　Roberta's　heart　stopped　in　her　chest；　then　jackrabbited　into　doubletime。　She　whirled　around；　bumping　the　table　by　the　La…Z…Boy　which　had　been　Alfie's　and　was　now　hers；　overturning　her　coffee　cup。　It　soaked　the　TV　Guide；　drowning　the　cast　of　The　Sopranos　in　a　puddle　of　brown。
　　　　The　scream　was　followed　by　high；　hysterical　sobbing；　the　sobs　of　a　child。　But　that　was　the　thing　about　Duddits　…　he　was　in　his　thirties　now；　but　he　would　die　a　child；　and　long　before　he　turned　forty。
　　　　For　a　moment　all　she　could　do　was　stand　still。　At　last　she　got　moving；　wishing　that　Alfie　were　here　。　。　。　or　even　better；　one　of　the　boys。　Not　that　any　of　them　were　boys　now；　of　course；　only　Duddits　was　still　a　boy；　Down's　syndrome　had　turned　him　into　Peter　Pan；　and　soon　he　would　die　in　Never…Never　Land。
　　　　'I'm　ing；　Duddie！'　she　called；　and　so　she　was；　but　she　felt　old　to　herself　as　she　went　hurrying　down　the　hall　to　the　back　bedroom；　her　heart　banging　leakily　against　her　ribs；　arthritis　pinging　her　hips。　No　Never　Land　for　her。
　　　　'ing；　Mummy's　ing！'
　　　　Sobbing　and　sobbing；　as　if　his　heart　had　broken。　He　had　cried　out　the　first　time　he　realized　his　gums　were　bleeding　after　he　brushed　his　teeth；　but　he　had　never　screamed　and　it　had　been　years　since　he'd　cried　like　this；　the　kind　of　wild　sobbing　that　got　into　your　head　and　tore　at　your　brains。　Thump　and　hum；　thump　and　hum；　thump　and　hum。
　　　　'Duddie；　what　is　it？'
　　　　She　burst　into　his　room　and　looked　at　him；　wide…eyed；　so　convinced　he　must　be　hemorrhaging　that　at　first　she　actually　saw　blood。　But　there　was　only　Duddits；　rocking　back　and　forth　in　his　crank…up　hospital　bed；　cheeks　wet　with　tears。　His　eyes　were　that　same　old　brilliant　green；　but　the　rest　of　his　color　was　gone。　His　hair　was　gone；　too；　his　lovely　blond　hair　that　had　reminded　her　of　the　young　Art　Garfunkel。　The　faint　winterlight　ing　in　through　the　window　gleamed　on　his　skull；　gleamed　on　the　bottles　ranked　on　the　bedside　table　（pills　for　infection；　pills　for　pain；　but　no　pills　that　would　stop　what　was　happening　to　him；　or　even　slow　it　down）；　gleamed　on　the　IV　pole　standing　in　front　of　the　table。
　　　　But　there　was　nothing　wrong　that　she　could　see。　Nothing　that　would　account　for　the　almost　grotesque　expression　of　pain　on　his　face。
　　　　She　sat　down　beside　him；　captured　the　restlessly　whipping　head　and　held　it　to　her　bosom。　Even　now；　in　his　agitation；　his　skin　was　cool；　his　exhausted；　dying　blood　could　bring　no　heat　to　his　face。　She　remembered　reading　Dracula　long　ago；　back　in　high　school；　the　pleasurable　terror　that　had　been　quite　a　bit　less　pleasurable　once　she　was　in　bed；　the　lights　out；　her　room　filled　with　shadows。　She　remembered　being　very　glad　there　were　no　real　vampires；　except　now　she　knew　different。　There　was　at　least　one；　and　it　was　far　more　terrifying　than　any　Transylvanian　count；　its　name　wasn't　Dracula　but　leukemia；　and　there　was　no　stake　you　could　put　through　its　heart。
　　　　'Duddits；　Duddie；　honey；　what　is　it？'
　　　　And　he　screamed　it　out　as　he　lay　against　her　breast；　making　her　forget　all　about　what　might　or　might　not　be　happening　up　in　the　Jefferson　Tract；　freezing　her　scalp　to　her　skull　and　making　her
　　　
　　　　skin　crawl　and　horripilate。　'Eeyer…eh！　Eeeyer…eh！　Oh　Amma；　Eeeyer…eh！'　There　was　no　need　to　ask　him　to　say　it　again　or　to　say　it　more　clearly；　she　had　been　listening　to　him　her　whole　life；　and　she　knew　well　enough：
　　　　Beaver's　dead！　Beaver's　dead！　Oh；　Mamma；　Beaver's　dead！

CHAPTER　NINE

PETE　AND　BECKY


1

Pete　lay　screaming　in　the　snow…covered　rut　where　he　had　landed　until　he　could　scream　no　more　and　then　just　lay　there　for　awhile；　trying　to　cope　with　the　pain；　to　find　some　way　to　promise　with　it。　He　couldn't。　This　was　no…promise　pain；　blitzkrieg　agony。　He'd　had　no　idea　the　world　had　such　pain　…　had　he　known；　surely　he　would　have　stayed　with　the　woman。　With　Marcy；　although　Marcy　wasn't　her　name。　He　almost　knew　her　name；　but　what　did　it　matter？　He　was　the　one　who　was　in　trouble　here；　the　pain　ing　up　from　his　knee　in　baked　spasms；　hot　and　terrible。
　　　　He　lay　shivering　in　the　road　with　the　plastic　bag　beside　him。
　　　　THANKS　FOR　SHOPPING　AT　OUR　PLACE！　on　the　side。　Pete　reached　for　it；　wanting　to　see　if　there　was　a　bottle　or　two　in　there　that　wasn't　broken；　and　when　his　leg　shifted；　a　bolt　of　agony　flew　up　from　the　knee。　It　made　the　others　feel　like　twinges。　Pete　screamed　again；　and　passed　out。


2

He　didn't　know　how　long　he'd　been　out　when　he　came　to　…　the　light　suggested　it　hadn't　been　long；　but　his　feet　were　numb　and　his　hands　were　going　as　well；　in　spite　of　the　gloves。
　　　　Pete　lay　partially　turned　on　his　side；　the　beer…bag　lying　beside　him　in　a　puddle　of　freezing　amber　slush。　The　pain　in　his　knee　had　receded　a　little　…　probably　that　was　numbing　up；　too　…　and　he　found　he　could　think　again。　That　was　good；　because　this　was　a　fuckin　pisser　he'd　gotten　himself　into　here。　He　had　to　get　back　to　the　lean…to　and　the　fire；　and　he　had　to　do　it　on　his　own。　If　he　simply　lay　here　waiting　for　Henry　and　the　snowmobile；　he　was　apt　to　be　a　Petesicle　when　Henry　arrived　…　a　Petesicle　with　a　bag　of　busted　beer…bottles　beside　him；　thank　you　for　shopping　at　our　place；　you　fucking　alcoholic；　thanks　a　lot。　And　there　was　the　woman　to　think　of　She　might　die；　too；　and　all　because　Pete　Moore　had　to　have　his　brewskis。
　　　　He　looked　at　the　bag　with　distaste。　Couldn't　throw　it　into　the　woods；　couldn't　risk　waking　his　knee　up　again。　So　he　covered　it　with　snow；　like　a　dog　covering　its　own　scat；　and　then　he　began