sk.dreamcatcher-第38部分

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　　　　Nothing。　Not　from　the　roof；　anyway。　There　was　a　soft　flump　of　snow　falling　from　one　of　the　pines　behind　him　as　the　lower　branches　shed　their　burden。　Pete's　hand　tightened　on　his　makeshift　torch；　half…lifting　it　from　the　fire。　Then　he　let　it　settle　back　in　a　little　swirl　of　sparks。　'e　on；　motherfucker。　I'm　hot；　I'm　tasty；　and　I'm　waiting。'　Nothing。　But　it　was　up　there。　It　couldn't　wait　long；　he　was　sure　of　it。　Soon　it　would　e。


3

Time　passed。　Pete　wasn't　sure　how　much；　his　watch　had　given　up　entirely。　Sometimes　his　thoughts　seemed　to　intensify；　as　they　sometimes　had　when　he　and　the　others　were　hanging　with　Duddits　　（although　as　they　grew　older　and　Duddits　stayed　the　same；　there　had　been　less　of　that　…　it　was　as　though　their　changing　brains　and　bodies　had　lost　the　knack　of　picking　up　Duddits's　strange　signals）。　This　was　like　that；　but　not　exactly　like　that。　Something　new；　maybe。　Maybe　even　something　to　do　with　the　lights　in　the　sky。　He　was　aware　that　Beaver　was　dead　and　that　something　terrible　might　have　happened　to　Jonesy；　but　he　didn't　know　what。
　　　　Whatever　had　happened；　Pete　thought　Henry　knew　about　it；　too；　although　not　clearly；　Henry　was　deep　inside　his　own　head　and　he　thought　Banbury　Cross；　Banbury　Cross；　ride　a　cock　horse　to　Banbury　Cross。
　　　　The　stick　burned　down　further；　closer　to　his　hand；　and　Pete　wondered　what　he'd　do　if　it　burned　down　too　far　to　be　of　use；　if　the　thing　up　there　could　outwait　him　after　all。　And　then　a　new　thought　came　to　him；　bright　as　day　and　red　with　panic。　It　filled　his　head　and　he　began　to　cry　it　aloud；　masking　the　sound　of　the　thing　on　the　roof　as　it　slithered　quickly　down　the　slope　of　the　tin。
　　　　'Please　don't　hurt　us！　Ne　nous　blessez　pas！'
　　　　But　they　would；　they　would；　because　。　。　。　what？
　　　　Because　they　are　not　helpless　little　ETs；　boys；　waiting　around　for　someone　to　give　them　a　New　England　Tel　phone　card　so　they　can　phone　home；　they　are　a　disease。　They　are　cancer；　praise　Jesus；　and　boys；　we're　one　big　hot　radioactive　shot　of　chemotherapy。　Do　you　hear　me；　boys？
　　　　Pete　didn't　know　if　they　did；　the　boys　to　whom　the　voice　spoke；　but　he　did。　They　were　ing；　the　boys　were　ing；　the　Crimson　Pirates　were　ing　and　not　all　the　begging　in　the　world　would　stop　them。　And　still　they　begged；　and　Pete　begged　with　them。
　　　　'Please　don't　hurt　us！　Please！　S'il　vous　pla？t！　Ne　nous　blessez　pas！　Ne　nous　faites　pas　mal　nous　sommes　sans　défense！　'Weeping　now。　'Please！　For　the　love　of　God；　we're　helpless！'
　　　　In　his　mind　he　saw　the　hand；　the　dog…turd；　the　weeping　nearly　naked　boy。　And　all　the　time　the　thing　on　the　roof　was　slithering；　dying　but　not　helpless；　stupid　but　not　entirely　stupid；　getting　behind　Pete　while　he　screamed；　while　he　lay　on　his　side　by　the　dead　woman；　listening　as　some　apocalyptic　slaughter　began。
　　　　Cancer；　said　the　man　with　the　white　eyelashes。
　　　　'Please！'　he　screamed。　'Please；　we're　helpless！'
　　　　But；　lie　or　the　truth；　it　was　too　late。


4

The　snowmobile　had　passed　Henry's　hiding　place　without　slowing；　and　the　sound　of　it　was　now　receding　to　the　west。　It　was　safe　to　e　out；　but　Henry　didn't　e　out。　Couldn't　e　out。　The　intelligence　which　had　replaced　Jonesy　hadn't　sensed　him；　either　because　it　was　distracted　or　because　Jonesy　had　somehow　…　might　somehow　still　be
　　　　But　no。　The　idea　that　there　could　be　any　of　Jonesy　left　inside　that　terrible　cloud　was　so　much　dreamwork。
　　　　And　now　that　the　thing　was　gone　…　receding；　at　least　there　were　the　voices。　They　filled　Henry's　head；　making　him　feel　half…mad　with　their　babble；　as　Duddits's　crying　had　always　made　him　feel　half…mad；　at　least　until　puberty　had　ended　most　of　that　crap。　One　of　the　voices　belonged　to　a　man　who　said　something　about　a　fungus
　　　　（dies　easily　unless　it　gets　on　a　living　host）
　　　　and　then　something　about　a　New　England　Tel　phone　card　and　。　。　。　chemotherapy？　Yes；　a　big　hot　radioactive　shot。　It　was　the　voice；　Henry　thought；　of　a　lunatic。　He　had　treated　enough　of　them　to　judge；　God　knew。
　　　　The　other　voices　were　the　ones　which　made　him　question　his　own　sanity。　He　didn't　know　all　of　them；　but　he　knew　some：　Walter　Cronkite；　Bugs　Bunny；　Jack　Webb；　Jimmy　Carter；　a　woman　he　thought　was　Margaret　Thatcher。　Sometimes　the　voices　spoke　in　English；　sometimes　in　French。
　　　　'II　n'y　a　pas　d'infection　ici；'　Henry　said；　and　then　began　to　weep；　He　was　astounded　and　exhilarated　to　find　there　were　still　tears　in　his　heart；　from　which　he　thought　all　tears　and　all　laughter　…　true　laughter　…　had　fled。　Tears　of　horror；　tears　of　pity；　tears　that　opened　the　stony　ground　of　self…regarding　obsession　and　burst　the　rock　inside。　'There　is　no　infection　here；　please；　oh　God　stop　it；　don't；　don't；　nous　sommes　sans　défense；　NOUS　SOMMES　SANS…'
　　　　Then　the　human　thunder　began　in　the　west　and　Henry　put　his　hands　to　his　head；　thinking　that　the　screams　and　the　pain　in　there　would　tear　it　apart。　The　bastards　were…


5

The　bastards　were　slaughtering　them。
　　　　Pete　sat　by　the　fire；　unmindful　of　the　bellows　of　pain　from　his　separated　knee；　unaware　that　he　was　now　holding　the　branch　from　the　fire　up　beside　his　temple。　The　screams　inside　his　head　could　not　quite　drown　out　the　sound　of　the　machine…guns　in　the　west；　big　machine…guns；　。50s。　Now　the　cries　…　please　don't　hurt　us；　we　are　defenseless；　there　is　no　infection　…　began　to　fade　into　panic；　it　wasn't　working；　nothing　could　work；　the　deal　was　done。
　　　　Movement　caught　Pete's　eye　and　he　turned　just　as　the　thing　that　had　been　on　the　roof　struck　at　him。　He　caught　a　blurred　glimpse　of　a　slender；　weaselly　body　that　seemed　powered　by　a　muscular　tail　rather　than　legs；　and　then　its　teeth　sank　into　his　ankle。　He　shrieked　and　yanked　his　good　leg　toward　him　so　hard　he　almost　clocked　himself　in　the　chin　with　his　own　knee。　The　thing　came　with　it；　clinging　like　a　leech。　Were　these　the　things　that　were　begging　for　mercy？　Fuck　them；　if　they　were。　Fuck　them！
　　　　He　reached　for　it　with　his　right　hand；　the　one　he'd　cut　on　the　Bud　bottle；　without　even　thinking　about　it；　the　torch　he　continued　to　hold　up　at　the　side　of　his　head　with　his　uninjured　left。　He　seized　something　that　felt　like　cool；　fur…covered　jelly。　The　thing　let　go　of　his　ankle　at　once；　and　Pete　caught　just　a　glimpse　of　expressionless　black　eyes　…　shark's　eyes；　eagle　eyes　…　before　it　sank　the　needle…nest　of　its　teeth　into　his　clutching　hand；　tearing　it　wide　open　along　the　perforation　of　the　previous　cut。
　　　　The　agony　was　like　the　end　of　the　world。　The　thing's　head　if　it　had　one　…　was　buried　in　the　hand；　ripping　and　tearing；　digging　deeper。　Blood　flew　in　splattery　fans　as　Pete　tried　to　shake　it　off；　stippling　the　snow　and　the　sawdusty　tarp　and　the　dead　woman's　parka。　Droplets　flew　into　the　fire　and　hissed　like　fat　in　a　hot　skillet。　Now　the　thing　was　making　a　ferocious　chattering　sound。　Its　tail；　as　thick　as　a　moray　eel's　body；　wrapped　around　Pete's　thrashing　arm；　endeavoring　to　keep　it　still。
　　　　Pete　made　no　conscious　decision　to　use　the　torch；　because　he'd　forgotten　he　had　it；　his　only　thought　was　to　tear　the　terrible　biting　thing　off　his　right　hand　with　his　left。　At　first；　when　it　caught　fire　and　flared　up；　as　hot　and　bright　as　a　roll　of　newspaper；　he　didn't　understand　what　was　happening。　Then　he　screamed；　partly　in　fresh　pain　and　partly　in　triumph。　He　bolted　to　his　feet　…　for　the　time　being；　at　least；　his　bulging　knee　did　not　hurt　at　all　…　and　swung　his　burdened　right　arm　at　one　of　the　lean…to's　support　posts　in　a　great　sweeping　roundhouse。　There　was　a　crunch　and　the　chattering　sound　was　replaced　by　muffled　squealing。　For　one　endless　moment　the　knot　of　teeth　planted　in　his　hand　burrowed　in　deeper　than　ever。　Then　they　loosened　and　the　burning　creature　fell　free　and　landed　on　the　frozen　ground。　Pete　stamped　on　it；　felt　it　writhe　under　his　heel；　and　was　filled　with　one　moment　of　pure　and　savage　triumph　before　his　outraged　knee　gave　way　entirely　and　his　leg　bent　inside　out；　the　tendons　torn　loose。
　　　　He　fell　heavily　on　his　side；　face　to　face　with　Becky's　lethal　hitchhiker；　unaware　that　the　lean…to　was　beginning　to　shift；　the　pole　he'd　struck　with　his　arm　bowing　slowly　outward。　For　a　moment　the　weasel…thing's　rudiment　of　a　face　was　three　inches　from　Pete's　own。　Its　burning　body　flapped　against　his　jacket。　Its　black　eyes　boiled。　It　had　nothing　so　sophisticated　as　a　mouth；　but　when　the　bulge　in　the　top　of　its　body　unhinged；　revealing　its　teeth；　Pete　screamed　at　it　'No！　No！　No！'　…　and　batted　it　into　the　fire；　where　it　writhed　and　made　its　frantic；　monkeylike　chattering。
　　　　His　left　foot　swung　in　a　short　arc　as　he　shoved　the　thing　farther　into　the　fire。　The　tip　of　his　boot　struck　the　tilting　pole；　which　had　just　decided　to　hold　the　lean…to　up　a　little　longer。　This　was　one　outrage　too　many　and　the　pole　snapped；　dropping　half　of　the　tin　roof。　A　second　or　two　later；　the　other　pole　snapped　as　well。　The　rest　of　the　roof　fell　into　the　fire；　sending　out　a　whirling　squirt　of　sparks。
　　　　For　a　moment　that　was　all。　Then　the　fallen　sheet　of　rusty　tin　began　to　heave　itself　up　and　down；　as　if　it　were　breathing。　A　moment　later；　Pete　crawled　out　from　under。　His　eyes　were　glazed。　His　skin　was　pasty　with　shock。　The　left　cuff　of　his　jacket　was　on　fire。　He　stared　at　this　for　a　moment　with　his　legs　still　under　the　fallen　roof　from　the　knees　down；　then　raised　his　arm　in　front　of　his　face；　drew　in　a　deep　breath；　and　blew　out　the　flames　rising　from　his　jacket　like　a　giant　birthday　candle。
　　　　Approaching　from　the　east　was　the　buzz　of　a　snowmobile　engine。　Jonesy　。　。　。　or　whatever　was　left　of　him。　The　cloud。　Pete　didn't　think　it　would　show　him　any　mercy。　This　was　no　day　for　mercy　in　the　Jefferson　Tract。　He　should　hide。　But　the　voice　advising　him　of　that　was　distant；　unimportant。　One　thing　was　good：　he　had　an　idea　he　had　finally　quit　drinking。
　　　　He　raised　his　savaged　right　hand　in　front　of　his　face。　One　finger　was　gone；　presumably　down　the　thing's　gullet。　Two　others　lay　in　a　swoon　of　severed　tendons。　He　saw　that　reddish…gold　stuff　already　growing　along　the　deepest　slashes　…　the　ones　the　monster　had　inflicted　and　the　one　he'd　done　himself；　crawling　back　into　the　Scout　after　the　beer。　He　could　feel　a　kind　of　fizzy　sensation　as　whatever　that　stuff　was　fed　on　his　flesh　and　blood。
　　　　Pete　suddenly　felt　that　he　couldn't　die　soon　enough。
　　　　The　sound　of　the　machine