js&cs.thebridge-第3部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　〃GOD　DAMN　IT！〃　he　bellowed；　grabbing　the　keys　and　grinding　the　ignition。　〃GO　。。。　！〃
　　That　was　when　he　noticed　the　rivulets；　moving　across　the　windshield。　Not　down。　Across：　a　lateral；　spider…webbing　motion；　like　a　hundred　liquid　tentacles　gripping　the　cab。　He　stared　in　slack…jawed　dumbstruck　awe　as　the　glass　started　to　steam。　The　liquid　pressed　impossibly　against　the　pane　and　squeezed。
　　Boonie　dove　for　the　passenger　side；　grappling　with　the　handle。　All　around　him；　the　safety　glass　starred。　He　cracked　the　door　open；　started　to　bail　。。。
　　。。。　as　the　windows　blew　inward：　a　blinding；　razored　spray　。。。
　　。。。　and　then　he　was　out　the　door　and　running；　running　for　his　life；　a　thousand　tiny　septic　barbs　of　shrapnel　lodged　in　his　face；　his　hands；　his　neck　and　back　and　legs　that　tripped　on　a　tie　and　brought　him　down；　all　two　hundred　and　forty…seven　pounds　of　him；　shrieking　pain　as　his　scar…pitted　Frankenstein's　former　right　knee　smacked　cold　steel　rail　。。。
　　。。。　but　he　couldn't　stay　down　or　the　game　was　fucking　over；　so　he　pistoned　back　up　to　his　feet　and　hobbled　with　all　his　might；　ignoring　the　pain；　ignoring　the　everywhere　tingle　that　turned　to　burn；　terrible　burn　in　his　eyes；　left　eye　stinging　sharp　and　wet　and　bleeding；　bleeding　from　within　。。。
　　。。。　and　still　he　ran；　trading　the　rails　for　Toad　Road　mud；　screaming　out　prayers　to　sweet　baby　Jesus　as　he　stumbled　through　puddles　of　primal　rain。　Running　from　the　devil　in　his　own　back　pocket。
　　Running　till　he　dropped　。。。
　　
　　
　　　Two
　　　
　　One　hundred　and　eighty…eight　thousand　souls　adorned　the　rolling　stretch　of　God's　country　that　was　Paradise；　Pennsylvania。　It　was　just　over　nine　hundred　square　miles　of　sprawling；　picturesque　land；　with　the　rugged　hump　of　the　Appalachian　foothills　sweeping　across　the　west　and　the　wide　rocky　expanse　of　the　Susquehanna　River　to　the　east。
　　Paradise　was　the　nexus　point　of　the　region's　major　east/west；　north/south　arteries；　which　made　it　the　natural　nerve　center　for　trucking　of　every　stripe。　Big　rigs　rumbled　in　and　out　constantly；　ferrying　the　essential　ingredients　of　the　good　life　east　to　Philadelphia　and　New　York；　south　to　Baltimore　and　Washington；　north　to　Harrisburg　and　Allentown；　and　west；　down　the　turnpike；　to　Pittsburgh　and　the　Ohioan　heartlands　beyond。
　　The　outer　townships　were　mostly　made　up　of　farms；　factories；　and　forest　land；　green　hills　and　hollows　sparsely　populated　and　broken　up　by　strip　malls　and　sleepy　one…horse　hamlets　that　accounted　for　maybe　thirty…seven　thousand　out　of　the　total　population。
　　Another　seventy…three　thousand　or　so　clustered　around　the　industrial　parks；　which　in　turn　gave　way　to　wave　upon　wave　of　dense…packed；　self…replicating　suburbia：　houses　and　lawns　and　houses　and　lawns；　gradually　shrinking　in　size　as　the　neighborhoods　crested　the　hills　and　entered　the　valley　that　marked　the　city　proper。　There　they　packed　in；　tighter　and　tighter；　until　the　lawns　at　last　evaporated　into　puddle…sized　patches　or　disappeared　altogether。
　　The　City　Reservoir；　on　the　south　side　of　town；　was　the　highest　elevation　and　the　site　of　the　Paradise　Water　pany's　vast　standing　pools。　If　you　stood　on　the　crest　of　the　hill　and　looked　out　over　the　valley；　a　vision　spread　before　you：　lights　twinkling　in　the　deep　blue　predawn　hush；　a　quintessentially　American　picture…postcard　jumble　of　church　steeples　and　smokestacks；　homes　and　factories　and　parks　and　schools。
　　Seventy…eight　thousand　people　lived　and　dreamt　there：　along　narrow　one…way　streets　and　shady　tree…lined　boulevards；　in　the　crumbling　tarpaper　Penn　Street　shanties　and　cozy　Cape　Cods　of　College　Avenue；　in　the　tastefully　renovated　Market　Square　townhouses　and　lush　Georgian　abodes　of　Linden　Boulevard。
　　From　the　posh　palatial　estates　of　Wyndham　Hills　to　the　paper…thin　walls　of　the　Paradise　Rescue　Mission…and　everywhere　in　between…one　hundred　and　eighty…eight　thousand　hearts　beat　through　the　night；　ticking　off　the　moments　of　a　lifetime。
　　Paradise　boasted　a　low　cost　of　living　and　an　unemployment　rate　a　few　tenths　of　a　point　below　the　national　average。　The　last　thirty　years　had　seen　a　steady　growth　in　the　black　and　Hispanic　munities…and；　more　recently；　a　proportionately　microscopic　Asian　influx…but　despite　all　this；　as　well　as　a　strong；　prosperous　Jewish　munity；　local　government　and　industry　still　remained　in　the　firm　Protestant　grip　of　the　same　Dutch…German　hands　that　had　wrested　this　land　from　the　Indians。
　　This　was　a　land　of　faschnachts　and　pig　roasts；　of　country　clubs　and　county　fairs；　of　ladies'　invitational　golf　classics　in　dichotomous　tandem　with　tractor　pulls　and　trailer　parks。　And　like　much　of　the　noncosmopolitan　East；　Paradise　County　was　notorious　for　its　stodginess　and　slow…moving　resistance　to　change：　a　temperament　shared　by　its　upper　and　lower　classes　alike。
　　Once　you　got　past　their　roots；　however；　it　was　television　that　truly　shaped　and　defined　their　culture：　from　CBN　to　MTV；　PBS　to　HBO；　with　network　news；　halftime　shows；　and　prime…time　fodder　in　dominion　über　alles。
　　It　was；　in　short；　America。
　　And；　like　the　rest　of　America；　Paradise　slept：　well　past　the　wee　hours；　to　the　break　of　Sunday　dawn。　Across　the　city；　across　the　county；　one　hundred　and　eighty…eight　thousand　lives　lay　down　together　in　isolated　slumber；　unconsciously　intertwined。
　　And　not　a　one　of　them　ever　even　saw　it　ing。
　　
　　
　　　Three
　　　
　　Gwen　opened　her　eyes；　suddenly　awake；　the　phantom　remnants　of　REM…stage　sleep　still　clinging　to　her　thoughts　like　a　shroud。
　　In　the　dream；　black　birds：　thousands　of　them；　their　iridescent　wings　and　harsh　cries　filling　the　sky　as　they　swooped　and　soared　in　a　figure…eight　pattern。
　　Over　and　over；　over　and　over　。。。
　　The　image　faded；　dissipating　like　morning　fog　and　leaving　Gwen　with　a　strange　sense　of　dislocation；　of　consciousness　arriving　a　split　second　before　identity。　For　a　single　elastic　moment；　she　didn't　know　who　or　where　or　what　she　was。
　　Only　that　she　was。
　　Alive。　Awake。
　　Here。
　　It　was　an　altogether　curious　feeling；　disorienting　but　not　entirely　unpleasant。　She　allowed　herself　to　steep　in　it　for　a　moment；　let　it　flavor　her　perceptions　without　bias　or　preconception。
　　The　she　felt　the　kick　inside。
　　And　it　all　came　flooding　back。
　　My　name　is　Gwen　Taylor。　I'm　thirty　years　old。　I'm　in　my　bed；　in　my　room；　in　my　house。
　　It　kicked　again：　a　small　solid　thump　deep　within。
　　And　I'm　going　to　have　a　baby；　she　amended。
　　The　dislocation　disappeared：　a　puff　of　subconscious　synapse　flotsam　vaporized　by　thought。　Gwen　yawned　and　stretched　in　the　big　brass　bed。　Her　sleep…tossed　ash…blond　hair　flowed　across　the　pillow；　her　clear　gray　eyes　were　elegantly　framed　by　the　tiniest　hint　of　smile　crinkles。
　　She　was　a　strikingly　attractive　woman；　though　you'd　never　get　her　to　agree　with　that　lately：　nine　months　in　and　she　felt　more　like　an　anaconda　with　a　hippo　lodged　in　its　digestive　tract。　Not　to　put　too　fine　a　point　on　it；　the　words　dingo　ugly　were　the　only　ones　she　trusted　to　accurately　convey　her　self…image；　and　there　wasn't　a　damn　thing　Gary　or　anyone　else　could　say　to　change　her　mind。
　　On　the　other　hand；　she　felt　pretty　honest…to…God　good　today：　very　snug　and　happy　and　loved；　with　only　a　slight　case　of　nausea　to　keep　things　in　real…life　perspective。　The　baby　had　dropped　on　Thursday；　its　head　lowering　into　her　pelvis　in　preparation　for　the　homestretch。　It　took　some　of　the　pressure　off；　made　her　feel　a　little　less　bloated　and　unwieldy；　most　assuredly　heightened　her　sense　of　anticipation。
　　〃Won't　be　long　now；〃　she　whispered　to　the　growing　form　inside　her。　〃You're　gonna　like　it　here。〃
　　She　peeked　out　from　the　covers；　entertaining　the　notion　of　just　lazing　around　all　day。　It　was　a　gray　morning；　from　her　vantage　point；　the　old　casement　windows　rattled　as　the　wind　pressed　against　them；　trying　to　get　in；　a　stray　slice　of　predawn　light　shone　cold　through　the　part　in　the　curtains；　illuminating　the　dust　motes　that　swirled　in　the　air。
　　The　ceiling　fan　overhead　twirled　lazily；　recirculating　heat。　The　house　was　a　three…story　frame　structure　off　the　Starview　Road　in　East　Manchester　township；　ten　miles　north　of　town。　It　was　over　a　hundred　years　old；　lovingly　refurbished　by　Gary　and　Gwen　until　it　just　oozed　warmth　and　character　and　a　clear　sense　of　home。
　　Their　room　was　on　the　drafty　side；　bigger　since　Gary'd　knocked　the　back　wall　out；　reducing　the　available　bedrooms　in　the　old　farmhouse　from　four　to　three　but　opening　the　space　considerably。
　　Besides；　she　thought；　running　her　hands　up　over　the　swell　of　her　belly；　a　guest　room　and　a　nursery's　all　we　really　need。　We're　only　doing　this　once。
　　The　baby　kicked　again。
　　Gwen　turned　toward　Gary；　who　lay　still　sleeping　beside　her；　his　body　concealed　in　a　mountain　range　of　rumpled　down。　〃Gary；〃　she　whispered。　He　stirred　and　mumbled　something　unintelligible　into　his　pillow。　She　reached　under　the　cover　and　tickled　him。　〃Gary？〃
　　Gary　grumbled　and　stirred；　but　did　not　wake。　She　paused　for　a　moment；　just　watching　her　man。
　　To　those　who　knew　him；　it　was　hard　to　believe　Gary　Taylor　had　really　hit　thirty…seven；　judging　by　energy　level　alone；　he　came　off　at　least　a　dozen　years　younger。　But　seeing　him　at　rest　like　this…with　his　personality　temporarily　on　hold…she　could　see　his　years；　and　all　the　pressure　he'd　been　under；　etched　in　the　craggy　lines　of　his　face。
　　Gary　was　a　long；　lean；　lupine　man　with　a　rugged　fighter's　mug；　softened　by　gentle　eyes　and　a　droopy　paintbrush　of　a　mustache。　His　hair　was　black　and　thick；　silvering　slightly　at　the　temples　and　thinning　into　a　widow's　peak　high　on　his　forehead。　When　he　rolled　toward　her；　the　pillow　side　stayed　smushed；　sticking　up　like　a　tar　baby's　mop。
　　Gwen　smiled　and　reached　under　the　covers；　squeezing　him。　〃Gary；　you　'wake？〃　she　teased。
　　He　opened　one　eye；　looked　balefully　at　her　with　it。
　　〃Spike　kicked；〃　she　said；　smiling　sweetly。　〃Three　times。〃
　　Gary　blinked　once；　twice。　He　was　waiting　for　enough　blood　to　circulate　into　his　brain　to　be　capable　of　speech。　He'd　been　up　late　the　night　before；　called　into　the　station　at　the　last　minute　again　by　some　technical　problem　that　Bob　the　Knob　couldn't　deal　with。　〃Mmm；〃　he　mumbled。　〃Mmph。〃
　　〃He　said　he　wants　to　see　his　o