sk.dreamcatcher-第51部分

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　　　　He　swallowed　more　milk；　belched；　then　leaned　his　head　against　the　side　of　the　Scout　and　closed　his　eyes。　No　going　to　sleep；　though；　these　woods　were　lovely；　dark　and　deep；　and　he　had　twelve…point…seven　miles　to　go　before　he　could　sleep。
　　　　He　remembered　Pete　talking　about　the　gossip　in　Gosselin's　missing　hunters；　lights　in　the　sky　…　and　how　blithely　The　Great　American　Psychiatrist　had　dismissed　it；　gassing　about　the　Satanism　hysteria　in　Washington　State；　the　abuse　hysteria　in　Delaware。　Playing　Mr　Smartass　Shrink…Boy　with　his　mouth　and　the　front　of　his　mind　while　the　back　of　his　mind　went　on　playing　with　suicide　like　a　baby　who's　just　discovered　his　toes　in　the　bathtub。　He　had　sounded　entirely　plausible；　ready　for　any　TV　panel　show　that　wanted　to　spend　sixty　minutes　on　the　interface　between　the　unconscious　and　the　unknown；　but　things　had　changed。　Now　he　had　bee　one　of　the　missing　hunters。　Also；　he　had　seen　things　you　couldn't　find　on　the　Internet　no　matter　how　big　your　search　engine　was。
　　　　He　sat　there；　head　back；　eyes　closed；　belly　full。　Jonesy's　Garand　was　propped　against　one　of　the　Scout's　tires。　The　snow　lit　on　his　cheeks　and　forehead　like　the　light　touch　of　a　kitten's　paws。　'This　is　it；　what　all　the　geeks　have　been　waiting　for；'　he　said。　'Close　encounters　of　the　third　kind。　Hell；　maybe　the　fourth　or　fifth　kind。　Sorry　I　made　fun　of　you；　Pete。　You　were　right　and　I　was　wrong。　Hell；　it's　worse　than　that。　Old　Man　Gosselin　was　right　and　I　was　wrong；　So　much　for　a　Harvard　education。'
　　　　And　once　he'd　said　that　much　out　loud；　things　began　to　make　sense。　Something　had　either　landed　or　crashed。　There　had　been　an　armed　response　from　the　United　States　government。　Were　they　telling　the　outside　world　what　had　happened？　Probably　not；　that　wasn't　their　style；　but　Henry　had　an　idea　they　would　have　to　before　much　longer。　You　couldn't　put　the　entire　Jefferson　Tract　in　Hangar　57。
　　　　Did　he　know　anything　else？　Maybe；　and　maybe　it　was　a　little　more　than　the　men　in　charge　of　the　helicopters　and　the　firing　parties　knew。　They　clearly　believed　they　were　dealing　with　a　contagion；　but　Henry　didn't　think　it　was　as　dangerous　as　they　seemed　to。　The　stuff　caught；　bloomed　。　。　。　but　then　it　died。　Even　the　parasite　that　had　been　inside　the　woman　had　died。　This　was　a　bad　time　of　year　and　a　bad　place　to　culture　interstellar　athlete's　foot；　if　that　was　what　it　was。　All　that　argued　strongly　for　the　possibility　of　a　crash　landing　。　。　。　but　what　about　the　lights　in　the　sky？　What　about　the　implants？　For　years　people　who　claimed　they'd　been　abducted　bv　ETs　had　also　claimed　they　had　been　stripped　。　。　。　examined　。　。　。　forced　to　undergo　implants。　All　ideas　so　Freudian　they　were　almost　laughable　。　。　。
　　　　Henry　realized　he　was　drifting　and　snapped　awake　so　strongly　that　the　unwrapped　package　of　hot　dogs　tumbled　off　his　lap　and　into　the　snow。　No；　not　just　drifting；　dozing。　A　good　deal　more　light　had　seeped　out　of　the　day；　and　the　world　had　gone　a　dull　slate　color。　His　pants　were　speckled　with　the　fresh　snow。　If　he'd　gone　any　deeper；　he'd've　been　snoring。
　　　　He　brushed　himself　off　and　stood　up；　wincing　as　his　muscles　screamed　in　protest。　He　regarded　the　hot　dogs　lying　there　in　the　snow　with　something　like　revulsion；　then　bent　down；　rewrapped　them；　and　tucked　them　into　one　of　his　coat　pockets。　They　might　start　looking　good　to　him　again　later　on。　He　sincerely　hoped　not；　but　you　never　knew。
　　　　'Jonesy's　in　the　hospital；'　he　said　abruptly。　No　idea　what　he　meant。　'Jonesy's　in　the　hospital　with　Mr　Gray。　Got　to　stay　there。　ICU。'
　　　　Madness。　Prattling　madness。　He　clamped　the　skis　to　his　boots　again；　praying　that　his　back　wouldn't　lock　up　while　he　was　bent　over；　and　then　pushed　off　along　the　track　once　more；　the　snow　starting　to　thicken　around　him　now；　the　day　darkening。
　　　　By　the　time　he　realized　that　he　had　remembered　the　hot　dogs　but　forgotten　Jonesy's　rifle　（not　to　mention　his　own）；　he'd　gone　too　far　to　turn　around。


12

He　stopped　what　might　have　been　three　quarters　of　an　hour　later；　peering　stupidly　down　at　the　Arctic　Cat's　print。　There　was　little　more　than　a　glimmer　of　light　left　in　the　day　now；　but　enough　to　see　that　the　track　…　what　was　left　of　it　…　veered　abruptly　to　the　right　and　went　into　the　woods。
　　　　Into　the　fucking　woods。　Why　had　Jonesy　（and　Pete；　if　Pete　was　with　him）　gone　into　the　woods？　What　sense　did　that　make　when　the　Deep　Cut　ran　straight　and　clear；　a　white　lane　between　the　darkening　trees？
　　　　'Deep　Cut　goes　northwest；'　he　said；　standing　there　with　his　skis　toeing　in　toward　each　other　and　the　loosely　wrapped　package　of　hot　dogs　poking　out　of　his　coat　pocket。　'The　road　to　Gosselin's　…　the　blacktop　…　can't　be　more　than　three　miles　from　here。　Jonesy　knows　that。　Pete　knows　that。　Still　。　。　。　snowmobile　goes　。　。　。'　He　held　up　his　arms　like　the　hands　of　a　clock；　estimating。　'Snowmobile　goes　almost　dead　north。　Why？'
　　　　Maybe　he　knew。　The　sky　was　brighter　in　the　direction　of　Gosselin's；　as　if　banks　of　lights　had　been　set　up　there。　He　could　hear　the　chatter　of　helicopters；　waxing　and　waning　but　always　tending　in　that　same　direction。　As　he　drew　closer；　he　expected　to　hear　other　heavy　machinery　as　well：　supply　vehicles；　maybe　generators。　To　the　east　there　was　still　the　isolated　crackle　of　gunfire；　but　the　big　action　was　clearly　in　the　direction　he　was　going。
　　　　'They've　set　up　a　base　camp　at　Gosselin's；'　Henry　said。　'And　Jonesy　didn't　want　any　part　of　it。'
　　　　That　felt　like　a　bingo　to　Henry。　Only　。　。　。　there　was　no　more　Jonesy；　was　there？　just　the　redblack　cloud。
　　　　'Not　true；'　he　said。　'Jonesy's　still　there。　Jonesy's　in　the　hospital　with　Mr　Gray。　That's　what　the　cloud　is　…　Mr　Gray。'　And　then；　apropos　of　nothing　（at　least　that　he　could　tell）：　'Fit　wha？　Fit　neek？'　Henry　looked　up　into　the　sifting　snow　（it　was　much　less　urgent　than　the　earlier　snowfall；　at　least　so　far；　but　it　was　starting　to　accumulate）　as　if　he　believed　there　was　a　God　above　it　somewhere；　studying　him　with　all　the　genuine　if　detached　interest　of　a　scientist　looking　at　a　wriggling　paramecium。　'What　the　fuck　am　I　talking　about？　Any　idea？'
　　　　No　answer；　but　an　odd　memory　came；　He；　Pete；　Beaver；　and　Jonesy's　wife　had　kept　a　secret　among　them　last　March。　Carla　had　felt　Jonesy　could　do　without　knowing　that　his　heart　had　stopped　twice；　once　just　after　the　EMTs　put　him　in　the　back　of　their　ambulance；　and　again　shortly　after　he　had　arrived　at　Mass　General。　Jonesy　knew　he'd　e　close　to　stepping　out；　but　not　（at　least　as　far　as　Henry　knew）　just　how　close。　And　lf　Jonesy　had　had　any　Kübler…Ross　step…into…the…light　experiences；　he　had　either　kept　them　to　himself　or　forgotten　thanks　to　repeated　doses　of　anesthetic　and　lots　of　pain…killers。
　　　　A　roar　built　out　of　the　south　with　terrifying　speed　and　Henry　ducked；　putting　his　hands　to　his　ears　as　what　sounded　like　a　full　squadron　of　'et　fighters　passed　in　the　clouds　overhead。　He　saw　nothing；　but　when　the　roar　of　the　'ets　faded　as　fast　as　it　had　e；　he　straightened　with　his　heart　beating　hard　and　fast。　Yow！　Christ！　It　occurred　to　him　that　this　was　what　the　airbases　surrounding　Iraq　must　have　sounded　like　during　the　days　leading　up　to　Operation　Desert　Storm。
　　　　That　big　boom。　Did　it　mean　the　United　States　of　America　had　just　gone　to　war　against　beings　from　another　world？　Was　he　now　living　in　an　H。G。　Wells　novel？　Henry　felt　a　hard；　squeezing　flutter　under　his　breastbone。　If　so；　this　enemy　might　have　more　than　a　few　hundred　rusty　Soviet　Scuds　to　throw　back　at　Uncle　Sammy。
　　　　Let　it　go。　You　can't　do　anything　about　any　of　that。　What's　next　for　you；　that's　the　question。　What's　next　for　you？
　　　　The　rave　of　the　jets　had　already　faded　to　a　mutter。　He　guessed　that　they　would　be　back；　though。　Maybe　with　friends。
　　　　'Two　paths　diverged　in　a　snowy　wood；　is　that　how　it　goes？　Something　like　that；　anyway。'
　　　　But　following　the　snowmobile's　track　any　farther　was　really　not　an　option。　He'd　lose　it　in　the　dark　half　an　hour　from　now；　and　this　new　snowfall　would　wipe　it　out　in　any　case。　He　would　end　up　wandering　and　lost　。　。　。　as　Jonesy　very　likely　was　now。
　　　　Sighing；　Henry　turned　away　from　the　snowmobile　track　and　continued　along　the　road。


13

By　the　time　he　neared　the　place　where　the　Deep　Cut　joined　up　with　the　two…lane　blacktop　known　as　the　Swanny　Pond　Road；　Henry　was　almost　too　tired　to　stand；　let　alone　ski。　The　muscles　in　his　thighs　felt　like　old　wet　teabags。　Not　even　the　lights　on　the　northwestern　horizon；　now　much　brighter；　or　the　sound　of　the　motors　and　helicopters　could　offer　him　much　fort。　Ahead　of　him　was　a　final　long；　steep　hill。　On　the　other　side；　Deep　Cut　ended　and　Swanny　Pond　began。　There　he　might　actually　encounter　traffic；　especially　if　there　were　troops　being　moved　in。
　　　　'e　on；'　he　said。　'e　on；　e　on；　e　on。'　Yet　he　stood　where　he　was　awhile　longer。　He　didn't　want　to　go　over　that　hill。　'Better　Underhill　than　overhill；'　he　said。　That　seemed　to　mean　something　but　it　was　probably　just　another　idiotic　non　sequitur。　Besides；　there　was　nowhere　else　to　go。
　　　　He　bent；　scooped　up　more　snow　…　in　the　dark　the　double　handful　looked　like　a　small　pillowcase。　He　nibbled　some；　not　because　he　wanted　it　but　because　he　really　didn't　want　to　start　moving　again。　The　lights　ing　from　Gosselin's　were　more　understandable　than　the　lights　he　and　Pete　had　seen　playing　in　the　sky　（They're　back！　Becky　had　screamed；　like　the　little　girl　sitting　in　front　of　the　TV　in　that　old　Steven　Spielberg　movie）；　but　Henry　liked　them　even　less；　somehow。　All　those　motors　and　generators　sounded　somehow　。　。　。　hungry。
　　　　'That's　right；　rabbit；'　he　said。　And　then；　because　there　really　were　no　other　options；　he　started　up　the　last　hill　between　him　and　a　real　road。


14

He　paused　at　the　top；　gasping　for　breath　and　bent　over　his　skipoles。　The　wind　was　stronger　up　here；　and　it　seemed　to　go　right　through　his　clothing。　His　left　leg　throbbed　where　it　had　been　gored　by　the　turnsignal　stalk；　and　he　wondered　again　if　he　was　incubating　a　little　red…gold　colony　under　the　makeshift　bandage。　Too　dark　to　see；　and　when　the　only　possible　good　news　would　be　no　news；　maybe　that　was　just　as　well。
　　　　'Time　slowed；　reality　bent；　on　and　on　the　eggman　went。'　No　yuks　left　in　that　one；　so　he　started　down　the　hill　toward　the　T…junction　where　the　Deep　Cut　Road　ended。
　　　　This　side　of　the　hi