sk.dreamcatcher-第72部分

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to　be　the　trade。　Only　they　also　turn　us　into　televisions。　We　are　Grayboy　TV。'
　　　　'And　you　know　all　this　because　you　have　one　living　inside　you？'　There　was　no　revulsion　in　Underhill's　voice；　but　Henry　felt　it　clearly　in　the　man's　mind；　pulsing　like　a　tentacle。　'One　of　the　quote…unquote　normal　weasels？'
　　　　'No。'　At　least；　he　thought；　I　don't　think　so。
　　　　'Then　how　do　you　know　what　you　know？　Or　are　you　maybe　just　making　it　up　as　you　go　along？　Trying　to　write　yourself　a　pass　out　of　here？'
　　　　'How　I　know　is　the　least　important　thing　of　all；　Owen　…　but　you　know　I'm　not　lying。　You　can　read　me。'
　　　　'I　know　you　think　you're　not　lying。　How　much　more　of　this　mind…reading　shit　can　I　expect　to　get？'
　　　　'I　don't　know。　More　if　the　byrus　spreads；　probably；　but　not　in　my　league。'
　　　　'Because　you're　different。'　Skepticism；　both　in　Underhill's　voice　and　in　Underhill's　thoughts。
　　　　'Pal；　I　didn't　know　how　different　until　today。　But　never　mind　that　for　a　minute。　For　now；　I　just　want　you　to　understand　that　the　grays　are　in　a　shitpull　here。　For　maybe　the　first　time　in　their　history；　they're　in　an　actual　battle　for　control。　First；　because　when　they　get　inside　people；　the　weasels　aren't　saprophytic　but　violently　parasitic。
　　　　They　don't　stop　eating　and　they　don't　stop　growing。　They're　cancer；　Underhill。
　　　　'Second；　the　byrus。　It　grows　well　on　other　worlds　but　poorly　on　ours；　at　least　so　far。　The　scientists　and　the　medical　experts　who　are　running　this　rodeo　think　the　cold　is　slowing　it　down；　but　I　don't　think　that's　it；　or　not　all　of　it。　I　can't　be　positive　because　they　don't　know；　but…'
　　　　'Whoa；　whoa。'　There　was　a　brief　cupped　flame　as　Underhill　lit　another　cigarette　for　the　wind　to　smoke。　'You're　not　talking　about　the　medical　guys；　are　you？'
　　　　'No。'
　　　　'You　think　you're　in　touch　with　the　grayboys。　Telepathically　in　touch。'
　　　　'I　think　。　。　。　with　one　of　them。　Through　a　link。'
　　　　'This　Jonesy　you　spoke　of？'
　　　　'Owen；　I　don't　know。　Not　for　sure。　The　point　is；　they're　losing。　Me；　you；　the　men　who　went　out　there　to　the　Blue　Boy　with　you　today；　we　might　not　be　around　to　celebrate　Christmas。　I　won't　kid　you　about　that。　We　got　high；　concentrated　doses。　But…'
　　　　'I've　got　it；　all　right；'　Underhill　said。　'Edwards；　too　…　it　showed　up　on　him　like　magic。'
　　　　'But　even　if　it　really　takes　hold　on　you；　I　don't　think　you　can　spread　it　very　far。　It's　not　just　that　catchable。　There　are　people　in　that　barn　who'll　never　get　it；　no　matter　how　many　byrus…infected　people　they　mingle　with。　And　the　people　who　do　catch　it　like　a　cold　e　down　with　Byrus　Secondary　。　。　。　or　Ripley；　if　you　like　that　better。'
　　　　'Let's　stick　to　byrus。'
　　　　'Okay。　They　might　be　able　to　pass　it　on　to　a　few　people；　who　would　have　a　very　weak　version　we　could　call　Byrus　Three。　It　might　even　be　municable　beyond　that；　but　I　think　once　you　got　to　Byrus　Four　you'd　need　a　microscope　or　a　blood…test　to　pick　it　up。　Then　it's　gone。
　　　　'Here's　the　instant　replay；　so　pay　attention。
　　　　'Point　one。　The　grays　…　probably　no　more　than　delivery…systems　for　the　byrus　…　are　gone　already。　The　ones　the　environment　didn't　kill；　like　the　microbes　finally　killed　the　Martians　in　War　of　the　Worlds；　were　wiped　out　by　your　gunships。　All　but　one；　that　is；　the　one　…　yeah；　must　be　…　that　I　got　my　information　from。　And　in　a　physical　sense；　he's　gone；　too。
　　　　'Point　two。　The　weasels　don't　work。　Like　all　cancers；　they　ultimately　eat　themselves　to　death。　The　weasels　that　escape　from　the　lower　intestine　or　the　bowel　quickly　die　in　an　environment　they　find　hostile。
　　　　'Point　three。　The　byrus　doesn't　work；　either；　not　very　well；　but　given　a　chance；　given　time　to　hide　and　grow；　it　could　mutate。　Learn　to　fit　in。　Maybe　to　rule。'
　　　　'We're　going　to　wipe　it　out；'　Underhill　said。　'We're　going　to　turn　the　entire　Jefferson　Tract　into　a　burn…scar。'
　　　　Henry　could　have　screamed　with　frustration；　and　some　of　that　must　have　gotten　through。　There　was　a　thud　as　Underhill　jerked；　striking　the　flimsy　shed　wall　with　his　back。
　　　　'What　you　do　up　here　doesn't　matter；'　Henry　said。　'The　people　you've　got　interned　can't　spread　it；　the　weasels　can't　spread　it；　and　the　byrus　can't　spread　itself。　If　your　guys　folded　their　tents　and　just　walked　away　right　now；　the　environment　would　take　care　of　itself　and　erase　all　this　nonsense　like　a　bad　equation。　I　think　the　grays　showed　up　the　way　they　did　because　they　just　can't　fucking　believe　it。　I　think　it　was　a　suicide　mission　with　some　gray　version　of　your　Mistuh　Kurtz　in　charge。　They　simply　cannot　conceptualize　failure。　〃We　always　win；〃　they　think。'
　　　　'How　do　you…'
　　　　'Then；　at　the　last　minute；　Underhill　…　maybe　at　the　last　second　one　of　them　found　a　man　who　was　remarkably　different　from　all　the　others　with　whom　the　grays；　the　weasels；　and　the　byrus　had　e　in　contact。　He's　your　Typhoid　Mary。　And　he's　already　out　of　the　q…zone；　rendering　anything　you　do　here　meaningless。'
　　　　'Gary　Jones。'
　　　　'Jonesy；　right。'
　　　　'What　makes　him　different？'
　　　　Little　as　he　wanted　to　go　into　this　part　of　it；　Henry　realized　he　had　to　give　Underhill　something。
　　　　'He　and　I　and　our　two　other　friends　…　the　ones　who　are　dead　…　once　knew　someone　who　was　very　different。　A　natural　telepath；　no　byrus　needed。　He　did　something　to　us。　If　we'd　gotten　to　know　him　when　we　were　a　little　older；　I　don't　think　that　would　have　been　possible；　but　we　met　him　when　we　were　particularly　。　。　。　vulnerable；　I　suppose　you'd　say　。　。　。　to　what　he　had。　And　then；　years　later；　something　else　happened　to　Jonesy；　something　that　had　nothing　to　do　with　。　。　。　with　this　remarkable　boy。'
　　　　But　that　wasn't　the　truth；　Henry　suspected；　although　Jonesy　had　been　hit　and　almost　killed　in　Cambridge　find　Duddits　had　never　to　Henry's　knowledge　been　south　of　Derry　in　his　life；　Duds　had　somehow　been　a　part　of　Jonesy's　final；　crucial　change。　A　part　of　that；　too。　He　knew　it。
　　　　'And　I'm　supposed　to　what？　Just　believe　all　this？　Swallow　it　like　cough…syrup？'
　　　　In　the　sweet…smelling　darkness　of　the　shed；　Henry's　lips　spread　in　a　humorless　grin。　'Owen；'　he　said；　'you　do　believe　it。　I'm　a　telepath；　remember？　The　baddest　one　in　the　jungle。　The　question；　though　。　。　。　the　question　is　。　。　。'
　　　　Henry　asked　the　question　with　his　mind。


7

Standing　outside　the　pound　fence　by　the　back　wall　of　the　old　storage　shed；　freezing　his　balls　off；　filter…mask　pulled　down　around　his　neck　so　he　could　smoke　a　series　of　cigarettes　he　did　not　want　（he'd　gotten　a　fresh　pack　in　the　PX）；　Owen　would　have　said　he　never　felt　less　like　laughing　in　his　life　。　。　。　but　when　the　man　in　the　shed　responded　to　his　eminently　reasonable　question　with　such　impatient　directness　…　you　do　believe　it　。　。　。　I'm　a　telepath；　remember？　…　a　laugh　was　surprised　out　of　him；　nevertheless。　Kurtz　had　said　that　if　the　telepathy　became　permanent　and　were　to　spread；　society　as　they　knew　it　would　fall　down。　Owen　had　grasped　the　concept；　but　now　he　understood　it　on　a　gut　level；　too。
　　　　'The　question；　though　。　。　。　the　question　is　。　。　。'
　　　　What　are　we　going　to　do　about　it？
　　　　Tired　as　he　was；　Owen　could　see　only　one　answer　to　that　question。　'We　have　to　go　after　Jones；　I　suppose。　Will　it　do　any　good？　Do　we　have　time？'
　　　　'I　think　we　might。　Just。'
　　　　Owen　tried　to　read　what　was　behind　Henry's　response　with　his　own　lesser　powers　and　could　not。　Yet　he　was　positive　that　most　of　what　the　man　had　told　him　was　true。　Either　that　or　he　believes　it's　true；　Owen　thought。　God　knows　I　want　to　believe　it's　true。　Any　excuse　to　get　out　of　here　before　the　butchery　starts。
　　　　'No；'　Henry　said；　and　for　the　first　time　Owen　thought　he　sounded　upset；　not　entirely　sure　of　himself。　'No　butchery。　Kurtz　isn't　going　to　kill　somewhere　between　two　hundred　and　eight　hundred　people。　People　who　ultimately　can't　influence　this　business　one　way　or　the　other。　They're　just　…　Christ；　they're　just　innocent　bystanders！'
　　　　Owen　wasn't　entirely　surprised　to　find　himself　rather　enjoying　his　new　friend's　disfort；　God　knew　Henry　had　disfited　him。　'What　do　you　suggest？　Bearing　in　mind　that　you　yourself　said　that　only　your　pal　Jonesy　matters。'
　　　　'Yes；　but　。　。　。'
　　　　Floundering。　Henry's　mental　voice　was　a　little　surer；　but　only　a　little。　I　didn't　mean　we'd　walk　away　and　let　them　die。
　　　　'We　won't　be　walking　anywhere；'　Owen　said。　'We'll　be　running　like　a　couple　of　rats　in　a　corncrib。'　He　dropped　his　third　cigarette　after　a　final　token　puff　and　watched　the　wind　carry　it　away。　Beyond　the　shed；　curtains　of　snow　rippled　across　the　empty　corral；　building　up　huge　drifts　against　the　side　of　the　barn。　Trying　to　go　anywhere　in　this　would　be　madness。　It'll　have　to　be　a　Sno…Cat；　at　least　to　start　with；　Owen　thought。　By　midnight；　even　a　four…wheel　drive　might　not　be　much　good。　Not　in　this。
　　　　'Kill　Kurtz；'　Henry　said。　'That's　the　answer。　It'll　make　it　easier　for　us　to　get　away　with　no　one　to　give　orders；　and　it'll　put　the　。　。　。　the　biological　cleansing　on　hold。'
　　　　Owen　laughed　dryly。　'You　make　it　sound　so　easy；'　he　said。　'Double…oh…Underhill；　license　to　kill。'
　　　　He　lit　a　fourth　cigarette；　cupping　his　hands　around　the　lighter　and　the　end　of　the　smoke。　In　spite　of　his　gloves；　his　fingers　were　numb。　We　better　e　to　some　conclusions　pretty　quick；　he　thought。　Before　I　freeze　to　death。
　　　　'What's　the　big　deal　about　it？'　Henry　asked；　but　he　knew　what　the　big　deal　was；　all　right；　Owen　could　sense　（and　half…hear）　him　trying　not　to　see　it；　not　wanting　things　to　be　worse　than　they　already　were。　'Just　walk　in　there　and　pop　him。'
　　　　'Wouldn't　work。'　Owen　sent　Henry　a　brief　image：　Freddy　Johnson　（and　other　members　of　the　so…called　Imperial　Valley　cadre）　keeping　an　eye　on　Kurtz's　Winnebago。　'Also；　he's　got　the　place　wired　for　sound。　If　anything　happens；　the　hard　boys　e　running。　Maybe　I　could　get　him。　Probably　not；　because　he　covers　himself　as　thoroughly　as　any　Colombian　cocaine　jefe；　especially　when　he's　on　active　duty；　but　maybe。　I　like　to　think　I'm　not　bad　myself。　But　it　would　be　a　suicide　mission。　If　he's　recruited　Freddy　Johnson；　then　he's　probably　got　Kate　Gallagher　and　Marvell　Richardson　。　。　。　Carl　Friedman　。　。　。　Jocelyn　McAvoy。　Tough　boys　and　tough　girls；　Henry。　I　kill　Kurtz；　they　kill　me；　the　brass　running　this　show　from　under　Cheyenne　Mountain　send　out　a　new　cleaner；　some　Kurtz　clone　that'll　pick　up　where　Kurtz　left　off。　O