sk.dreamcatcher-第85部分

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　　　　Mr　Gray　stepped　down　on　the　gas；　and　although　he　did　it　gently；　as　Jonesy's　file　concerning　winter　driving　suggested；　all　four　of　the　pickup's　wheels　spun；　and　the　truck　began　to　jitter　sideways；　digging　itself　in。
　　　　Go　on！　Jonesy　cheered　from　his　position　at　the　office　window。　Go　on；　stick　it！　Stick　it　right　up　to　the　rocker…panels！　Because　when　you're　stuck　in　a　four…wheel　drive；　you're　really　stuck！
　　　　Then　the　wheels　caught　…　first　the　front　ones；　where　the　weight　of　the　motor　gave　the　Ram　a　little　more　traction　…　then　the　back　ones。　The　Ram　trundled　across　Route　9　and　toward　the　sign　marked　ENTRANCE。　Beyond　it　was　another：　WELE　TO　THE　BEST　TRUCK　STOP　IN　NEW　ENGLAND。　Then　the　truck's　headlights　picked　out　a　third；　snowcaked　but　readable：　HELL；　WELE　TO　THE　BEST　TRUCK　STOP　ON　EARTH。
　　　　Is　this　the　best　truck　stop　on　earth？　Mr　Gray　asked。
　　　　Of　course；　Jonesy　said。　And　then　…　he　couldn't　help　it　…　he　burst　out　laughing。
　　　　Why　do　you　do　that？　Why　do　you　make　that　sound？
　　　　Jonesy　realized　an　amazing　thing；　both　touching　and　terrifying：　Mr　Gray　was　smiling　with　Jonesy's　mouth。　Not　much；　just　a　little；　but　it　was　a　smile。　He　doesn't　really　know　what　laughter　is；　Jonesy　thought。　Of　course　he　hadn't　known　what　anger　was；　either；　but　he　had　proved　to　be　a　remarkably　fast　learner；　he　could　now　tantrum　with　the　best　of　them。
　　　　What　you　said　struck　me　funny。
　　　　What　exactly　is　funny？
　　　　Jonesy　had　no　idea　how　to　answer　the　question。　He　wanted　Mr　Gray　to　experience　the　entire　gamut　of　human　emotions；　suspecting　that　humanizing　his　usurper　might　ultimately　be　his　only　chance　of　survival　…　we　have　met　the　enemy　and　he　is　us；　Pogo　had　once　said。　But　how　did　you　explain　funny　to　a　collection　of　spores　from　another　world？　And　what　was　funny　about　Dysart's　proclaiming　itself　the　best　truck　stop　on　earth？
　　　　Now　they　were　passing　yet　another　sign；　one　with　arrows　pointing　left　and　right。　BIGUNS　it　said　beneath　the　left　arrow。　And　LITTLEUNS　under　the　right。
　　　　Which　are　we？　Mr　Gray　asked；　stopping　at　the　sign。
　　　　Jonesy　could　have　made　him　retrieve　the　information；　but　what　would　have　been　the　point？　We're　a　littleun；　he　said；　and　Mr　Gray　turned　the　Ram　to　the　right。　The　tires　spun　a　little　and　the　truck　lurched。　Lad　raised　his　head；　let　fly　another　long　and　fragrant　fart；　then　whined。　His　lower　midsection　had　swelled　and　distended；　anyone　who　didn't　know　better　would　no　doubt　have　mistaken　him　for　a　bitch　about　to　give　birth　to　a　good…sized　litter。
　　　　There　were　perhaps　two　dozen　cars　and　pickups　parked　in　the　littleuns'　lot；　the　ones　most　deeply　buried　in　snow　belonging　to　the　help　…　mechanics　（always　one　or　two　on　duty）；　waitresses；　short…order　cooks。　The　cleanest　vehicle　there；　Jonesy　saw　with　sharp　interest；　was　a　powder…blue　State　Police　car　with　packed　snow　around　the　roof…lights。　Being　arrested　would　certainly　put　a　spike　in　Mr　Gray's　plans；　on　the　other　hand；　Jonesy　had　already　been　present　at　three　murder…sites；　if　you　counted　the　cab　of　the　pickup。　No　witnesses　at　the　first　two　crime　scenes；　and　probably　no　Gary　Jones　fingerprints；　either；　but　here？　Sure。　Plenty　of　them。　He　could　see　himself　standing　in　a　courtroom　somewhere　and　saying；　But　Judge；　it　was　the　alien　inside　me　who　mitted　those　murders。　It　was　Mr　Gray。　Another　joke　that　Mr　Gray　wouldn't　get。
　　　　That　worthy；　meanwhile；　had　been　rummaging　again。　Dry　Farts；　he　said。　Why　do　you　call　this　place　Dry　Farts　when　the　sign　says　Dysart's？
　　　　It's　what　Lamar　used　to　call　it；　Jonesy　said；　remembering　long；　hilarious　breakfasts　here；　usually　going　or　ing　back　from　Hole　in　the　Wall。　And　this　fit　night　into　the　tradition；　didn't　it？　My　Dad　called　it　that；　too。
　　　　Is　it　funny？
　　　　Moderately；　I　guess。　It's　a　pun　based　on　similar　sounds。　Puns　are　what　we　call　the　lowest　form　of　humor。
　　　　Mr　Gray　parked　in　the　rank　closest　to　the　lighted　island　of　the　restaurant；　but　all　the　way　down　from　the　State　Police　cruiser。　Jonesy　had　no　idea　if　Mr　Gray　understood　the　significance　of　the　lightbars　on　top　or　not。　He　reached　for　the　Ram's　headlight　knob　and　pushed　it　in。　He　reached　for　the　ignition；　then　stopped　and　issued　several　hard　barks　of　laughter：　'Ha！　Ha！　Ha！　Ha！'
　　　　How'd　that　feel？　Jonesy　asked；　more　than　a　little　curious。　A　little　apprehensive；　too。
　　　　'Like　nothing；'　Mr　Gray　said　flatly；　and　turned　off　the　ignition。　But　then；　sitting　there　in　the　dark　with　the　wind　howling　around　the　cab　of　the　truck；　he　did　it　again；　and　with　a　little　more　conviction：　'Ha！　Ha；　ha；　ha！'　In　his　office　refuge；　Jonesy　shivered。　It　was　a　creepy　sound；　like　a　ghost　trying　to　remember　how　to　be　human。
　　　　Lad　didn't　like　it　either。　He　whined　again；　looking　uneasily　at　the　man　behind　the　steering　wheel　of　his　master's　truck。


3

Owen　was　shaking　Henry　awake；　and　Henry　responded　reluctantly。　He　felt　as　if　he　had　gone　to　sleep　only　seconds　ago。　His　limbs　all　seemed　to　have　been　dipped　in　cement。
　　　　'Henry。'
　　　　'I'm　here。'　Left　leg　itching。　Mouth　itching　even　worse；　the　　goddam　byrus　was　growing　on　his　lips　now；　too。　He　rubbed　it　off　with　his　forefinger；　surprised　at　how　easily　it　broke　free。　Like　a　crust。
　　　　'Listen　up。　And　look。　Can　you　look？'
　　　　Henry　looked　up　the　road；　which　was　now　dim　and　snow…ghostly　…　Owen　had　pulled　the　Sno…Cat　over　and　turned　off　the　lights。　Farther　along；　there　were　mental　voices　in　the　dark；　the　auditory　equivalent　of　a　campfire。　Henry　went　to　them。　There　were　four　of　them；　young　men　with　no　seniority　in　。　。　。　in　。　。　。
　　　　Blue　Group；　Owen　whispered。　This　time　we're　Blue　Group。
　　　　Four　young　men　with　no　seniority　in　Blue　Group；　trying　not　to　be　scared　。　。　。　trying　to　be　tough　。　。　。　voices　in　the　dark　。　。　。　a　little　campfire　of　voices　in　the　dark　。　。　。
　　　　By　its　light；　Henry　discovered　he　could　see　dimly：　snow；　of　course；　and　a　few　flashing　yellow　lights　illuminating　a　turnpike　entrance　ramp。　There　was　also　the　lid　of　a　pizza　carton　seen　in　the　light　of　an　instrument　panel。　It　had　been　turned　into　a　tray。　On　it　were　Saltines；　several　blocks　of　cheese；　and　a　Swiss　Army　knife。　The　Swiss　Army　knife　belonged　to　the　one　named　Smitty；　and　they　were　all　using　it　to　cut　the　cheese。　The　longer　Henry　looked；　the　better　he　saw。　It　was　like　having　your　eyes　adjust　to　the　dark；　but　it　was　more　than　that　too：　what　he　saw　had　a　creepy…giddy　depth；　as　if　all　at　once　the　physical　world　consisted　not　of　three　dimensions　but　of　four　or　five。　It　was　easy　enough　to　understand　why：　he　was　seeing　through　four　sets　of　eyes；　all　at　the　same　time。　They　were　huddled　together　in　the
　　　　Humvee；　Owen　said；　delighted。　It's　a　fucking　Humvee；　Henry！　Custom…equipped　for　snow；　too！　Bet　you　anything　it　is！
　　　　The　young　men　were　sitting　close　together；　yes；　but　still　in　four　different　places；　looking　at　the　world　from　four　different　points　of　view；　and　with　four　different　qualities　of　eyesight；　ranging　from　eagle…eye　sharp　（Dana　from　Maybrook；　New　York）　to　the　merely　adequate。　Yet　somehow　Henry's　brain　was　processing　them；　just　as　it　turned　multiple　still　images　on　a　reel　of　film　into　a　moving　picture。　This　wasn't　like　a　movie；　though；　nor　like　some　tricky　3…D　image。　It　was　an　entirely　new　way　of　seeing；　the　kind　that　could　produce　a　whole　new　way　of　thinking。
　　　　If　this　shit　spreads；　Henry　thought；　both　terrified　and　wildly　excited；　if　it　spreads　。　。　。
　　　　Owen's　elbow　thumped　into　his　side。　'Maybe　you　could　save　the　seminar　for　another　day；'　he　said。　'Look　across　the　road。'
　　　　Henry　did　so；　employing　his　unique　quadruple　vision　and　realizing　only　belatedly　that　he　had　done　more　than　look；　he　had　moved　their　eyeballs　so　he　could　peer　over　to　the　far　side　of　the　turnpike。　Where　he　saw　more　blinking　lights　in　the　storm。
　　　　'It's　a　choke…point；'　Owen　muttered。　'One　of　Kurtz's　insurance　policies。　Both　exits　blocked；　no　movement　onto　the　turnpike　without　authorization。　I　want　the　Humvee；　it's　the　best　thing　we　could　have　in　a　shitstorm　like　this；　but　I　don't　want　to　alert　the　guys　on　the　other　side。　Can　we　do　that？'
　　　　Henry　experimented　with　their　eyes　again；　moving　them。　He　discovered　that　as　soon　as　they　weren't　all　looking　at　the　same　thing；　his　sense　of　godlike　four…　or　five…dimensional　vision　evaporated；　leaving　him　with　a　nauseating；　shattered　perspective　his　processing　equipment　couldn't　cope　with。　But　he　was　moving　them。　Not　much；　just　their　eyeballs；　but　。　。　。
　　　　I　think　we　can　if　we　work　together；　Henry　told　him。　Get　closer。　And　stop　talking　out　loud。　Get　in　my　head。　Link　up。
　　　　Suddenly　Henry's　head　was　fuller。　His　vision　clarified　again；　but　this　time　the　perspective　wasn't　quite　as　deep。　Only　two　sets　of　eyes　instead　of　four：　his　and　Owen's。
　　　　Owen　put　the　Sno…Cat　into　first　gear　and　crept　forward　with　the　lights　off。　The　engine's　low　growl　was　lost　beneath　the　constant　shriek　of　the　wind；　and　as　they　closed　the　distance；　Henry　felt　his　hold　on　those　minds　ahead　tightening。
　　　　Holy　shit；　Owen　said；　half…laughing　and　half…gasping。
　　　　What？　That　is　it？
　　　　It's　you；　man　…　it's　like　being　on　a　magic　carpet。　Christ；　but　you're　strong。
　　　　You　think　I'm　strong；　wait'll　you　meet　Jonesy。
　　　　Owen　stopped　the　Sno…Cat　below　the　brow　of　a　little　hill。　Beyond　it　was　the　turnpike。　Not　to　mention　Bernie；　Dana；　Tommy；　and　Smitty；　sitting　in　their　Humvee　at　the　top　of　the　southbound　ramp；　eating　cheese　and　crackers　off　their　makeshift　tray。　He　and　Owen　were　safe　enough　from　discovery。　The　four　young　men　in　the　Humvee　were　clean　of　the　byrus　and　had　no　idea　they　were　being　scoped。　　　　
　　　　Ready？　Henry　asked；
　　　　I　guess。　The　other　person　in　Henry's　head；　cool　as　that　storied　cucumber　when　Kurtz　and　the　others　had　been　shooting　at　them；　was　now　nervous。　You　take　the　lead；　Henry。　I'm　just　flying　support　this　mission。
　　　　Here　we　go。
　　　　What　Henry　did　next　he　did　instinctively；　binding　the　four　men　in　the　Humvee　together　not　with　images　of　death　and　destruction；　but　by　impersonating　Kurtz。　To　do　this　he　drew　on　both　Owen　Underhill's　energy　…　much　greater　than　his　own；　at　this　point　…　and　Owen　Underhill's　vivid　knowledge　of　his　OIC。　The　act　of　binding　gave　him　a　brilliant　stab　of　satisfaction。　Relief；　as　well。　Moving　their　eyes　was　one　thing；　taking　them　over　pletely　was　another。　And　they　were　free　of　the　byrus。　That　could　have　made　them　immune。　Thank