dk.intensity-第22部分

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ealize　that　somehow　she　was　onto　him。
　Southbound　traffic　had　been　sparse　to　begin　with；　but　now　it　declined　in　direct　proportion　to　the　power　of　the　escalating　storm；　as　though　most　motorists　had　been　washed　off　the　highway。
　No　headlights　appeared　in　the　rearview　mirror　either。　The　psychotic　in　the　motor　home　had　set　a　pace　that　no　one　but　Chyna　was　likely　to　match。
　She　felt　almost　as　alone　with　him　here　in　the　open　as　she　had　been　inside　his　abattoir　on　wheels。
　Then；　as　enough　time　passed　to　make　the　lonely　lanes　of　blacktop　and　the　dreary　cataracts　of　rain　less　threatening　than　monotonous；　the　killer　suddenly　surprised　her。　With　a　quick　touch　of　his　brakes；　without　bothering　to　use　a　turn　signal；　he　angled　to　the　right　onto　an　exit　lane。
　Chyna　fell　back　somewhat；　again　concerned　that　he　would　bee　suspicious；　seeing　her　take　the　same　exit。　Because　theirs　were　the　only　two　vehicles　in　sight；　she　could　not　be　inconspicuous。　But　she　had　no　choice　other　than　to　follow　him。
　By　the　time　she　reached　the　end　of　the　ramp；　the　motor　home　had　vanished　into　the　rain　and　thin　mist；　but　from　the　ramp　entrance；　she　had　seen　it　turn　left。　In　fact；　the　two…lane　road　led　only　west；　and　a　sign　indicated　that　she　was　already　within　the　boundaries　of　Humboldt　Redwood　State　Park。
　In　addition；　three　munities　lay　ahead：　Honeydew；　Petrolia；　and　Capetown。　She'd　never　heard　of　any　of　them；　and　she　was　sure　that　they　were　little　more　than　wide　places　in　the　road；　where　she　would　find　no　police。
　Leaning　forward　over　the　steering　wheel；　squinting　through　the　rain…smeared　windshield；　she　drove　into　the　park；　eager　to　catch　up　with　the　killer　again；　because　he　might　live　in　or　near　one　of　those　three　small　towns。　She　was　wise　to　let　him　out　of　sight　for　a　minute；　so　he　wouldn't　think　that　she　was　too　eager　to　stay　on　his　tail。　But　soon　she　would　need　to　reestablish　visual　contact　before　he　reached　the　far　side　of　the　park　and；　perhaps　thereafter；　turned　off　the　county　road　onto　a　driveway　or　a　private　lane。
　The　deeper　the　road　wound　among　the　heaven…reaching　trees；　the　less　forcefully　the　rain　beat　against　the　Honda。　The　storm　was　not　diminishing　at　all；　but　the　huge　ramparts　of　redwoods　sheltered　the　pavement　from　the　worst　of　the　deluge。
　On　this　narrower；　twisting　route；　it　wasn't　possible　to　maintain　the　pace　they　had　kept　on　Highway　ioi。　Furthermore；　the　killer　apparently　had　decided　that　he　no　longer　needed　to　make　good　time；　perhaps　because　he'd　put　what　seemed　a　safe　distance　between　himself　and　the　dead　men　at　the　service　station；　and　when　Chyna　caught　up　with　him　in　hardly　more　than　a　minute；　he　was　driving　under　the　posted　speed　limit。
　Now；　closer　than　she'd　been　before；　she　noticed　that　the　motor　home　didn't　have　license　plates。　California…and　some　other　states；　for　all　she　knew…didn't　issue　temporary　plates　for　a　newly　purchased　vehicle；　and　it　was　legal　to　drive　without　the　tags　until　they　came　in　the　mail　from　the　Department　of　Motor　Vehicles。　Or　perhaps　before　going　to　the　Templetons'　house；　the　killer　had　removed　his　plates　rather　than　risk　a　witness　with　a　good　memory。
　Easing　off　the　accelerator；　Chyna　glanced　at　the　speedometerand　spotted　a　red　warning　light。　The　fuel…gauge　needle　was　below　the　EMPTY　mark。
　She　had　no　idea　how　long　the　warning　light　had　been　burning；　because　she'd　been　concentrating　intently　on　the　motor　home　and　the　dangers　of　the　slick　pavement。　The　car　might　have　a　gallon　or　two　in　the　tank…or　even　now　be　running　on　its　last　pint。
　Trailing　the　killer　to　his　home　base　was　no　longer　an　option。
　The　meaning　of　redwoods　is　not　grandeur；　beauty；　peace；　or　the　timelessness　of　nature。　The　meaning　of　redwoods　is　power。
　As　he　drives；　Edgler　Vess　rolls　down　the　window　beside　him　and　draws　deep　breaths　of　the　cold　air；　which　is　rich　with　the　fragrance　of　redwoods；　which　is　a　scent　of　power。　This　power　flows　into　him　with　the　fragrance；　and　his　own　power　is　thus　enhanced。
　Redwoods　are　power　because　their　great　size　is　unmatched　by　any　other　trees；　because　they　are　ancient…many　of　these　very　specimens　dating　back　centuries　before　the　birth　ofjesus　Christ…because　their　extraordinary　bark；　as　thick　as　armor　and　high　in　tannin；　makes　them　all　but　impervious　to　insects；　disease；　and　fire。　They　are　power　because　they　endure　while　all　around　them　dies；　men　and　animals　pass　among　them　and　pass　forever　away；　birds　alight　in　their　high　branches　and　seem　freer　than　anything　rooted　in　rock　and　soil；　but　eventually；　in　a　sudden　quietness　of　the　heart；　the　birds　swoon　off　the　sturdy　limbs　and　thump　to　the　ground　or　plummet　from　the　sky；　and　the　trees　still　soar；　on　the　shadowed　floors　of　these　groves；　sun…shy　ferns　and　rhododendrons　flourish　season　after　season；　but　their　immortality　is　illusory；　for　they　too　die；　and　new　generations　of　their　species　rise　in　the　deposing　remains　of　the　old。　Christ　expired　on　a　cross　of　dogwood；　the　prince　of　peace　and　prophet　of　love；　but　in　the　span　of　His　life；　not　one　of　these　trees　had　been　brought　down　by　any　storm；　though　they　cared　not　about　peace　and　knew　nothing　of　love；　they　had　endured。　Busily　engaged　on　his　endless　harvests；　Death　casts　frenetic　shadows　among　the　indifferent　redwoods；　a　ceaseless　flickering　that　dances　across　their　massive　trunks　with　no　effect；　like　the　dark　equivalent　of　leaping　firelight　on　hearthstones。
　Power　is　living　while　others　inevitably　perish。　Power　is　cool　indifference　to　their　suffering。　Power　is　taking　nourishment　from　the　deaths　of　others；　just　as　the　mighty　redwoods　draw　sustenance　from　the　perpetual　deposition　of　what　once　lived；　but　lived　only　briefly；　around　them。　This　is　also　part　of　the　philosophy　of　Edgler　Foreman　Vess。
　Through　the　open　window；　he　breathes　in　the　scent　of　redwoods；　and　the　molecules　of　their　fragrance　adhere　to　the　surface　cells　of　his　lungs；　and　the　power　of　millennia　is　conveyed　therefrom　into　his　freshly　oxygenated　blood；　pumps　through　his　heart；　reaches　to　every　extremity　of　him；　filling　him　with　strength　and　energy。
　Power　is　God；　God　is　nature；　nature　is　power；　and　the　power　is　in　him。
　His　power　is　ever　increasing。　If　he　worshiped；　he　would　be　an　ardent　pantheist；　mitted　to　the　belief　that　all　things　are　sacred；　every　tree　and　every　flower　and　every　blade　of　grass；　every　bird　and　every　beetle。　The　world　is　full　of　pantheists　these　days；　he　would　be　at　home　among　them　if　he　were　to　join　their　ranks。　When　everything　is　sacred；　nothing　is。　For　him；　that　is　the　beauty　of　pantheism。　If　the　life　of　a　child　is　equal　to　the　life　of　a　bluegill　or　a　barn　owl；　then　Vess　may　kill　attractive　little　girls　as　casually　as　he　might　crush　a　scorpion　underfoot；　with　no　greater　moral　offense　though　with　considerably　more　pleasure。
　But　he　worships　nothing。　As　he　rounds　a　curve　into　a　straightaway　flanked　by　redwoods　of　even　greater　girth　than　any　he　has　previously　seen；　stark　white　bones　of　lightning　crack　through　the　black　skin　of　the　sky。　A　roar　of　thunder　like　a　bellow　of　rage　shudders　the　air。
　Rain　washes　the　smell　of　lightning　down　through　the　night。　Two　scents　of　power；　lightning　and　redwoods…electricity　and　time；　fierce　heat　and　stolid　endurance…are　offered　to　him　now；　and　he　inhales　deeply　with　pleasure。
　Taking　this　county　road　through　the　redwoods；　along　the　coast；　and　reconnecting　with　Highway　ioi　south　of　Eureka　will　add　between　half　an　hour　and　an　hour　to　his　travel　time；　depending　on　the　pace　he　sets　and　the　strength　of　the　storm。　But　as　eager　as　he　is　to　get　home　to　Ariel；　he　couldnot　have　resisted　the　power　of　the　redwoods。
　Headlights　appear　behind　him；　visible　in　the　angled　side　mirror。　A　car。　For　nearly　an　hour；　one　followed　him　on　the　freeway；　hanging　at　a　distance。　This　must　be　a　different　vehicle；　because　this　driver　is　more　aggressive　than　the　one　on　the　freeway；　closing　the　distance　between　them　at　high　speed。
　Recklessly；　the　car…a　Honda…pulls　around　the　motor　home；　into　the　lane　reserved　for　oning　traffic；　though　this　is　not　a　passing　zone。
　There　is　no　other　traffic；　and　they　are　on　a　straightaway；　but　the　Honda　has　insufficient　distance　to　plete　the　maneuver　before　the　next　blind　turn　in　the　road；　especially　on　the　treacherous　rain…slick　blacktop。
　Vess　reduces　speed。　The　racing　Honda　pulls　alongside　him。　Looking　down　through　the　windshield　of　the　car；　Vess　has　barely　a　glimpse　of　the　person　behind　the　steering　wheel；　because　the　rain　and　the　high…speed　windshield　wipers　inhibit　his　view。　Nothing　more　than　a　suggestion　of　a　deep…red　shirt　or　sweater。　A　pale　hand　on　the　wheel。　The　wrist　is　slender　enough　to　indicate　that　the　driver　is　most　likely　a　woman；　She　appears　to　be　alone。　Then　the　car　moves　far　enough　forward　so　that　Vess　is　looking　down　on　the　roof；　and　the　windshield　is　out　of　sight。
　They　are　rapidly　approaching　the　curve。
　Vess　further　reduces　his　speed。　Through　his　open　window；　he　listens　to　the　shriek　of　the　Honda　as　the　driver　accelerates。　All　the　formidable　power　of　that　engine　seems　pathetically　weak　in　these　majestic　groves；　like　the　angry　buzz　of　a　gnat　among　a　herd　of　elephants。
　With　so　little　effort　that　he　would　not　increase　his　heartbeat；　Vess　could　pull　the　wheel　to　the　left；　slam　the　motor　home　into　the　Honda；　and　force　the　car　off　the　road。　It　would　either　roll　and　then　explodeor　shatter　head…on　into　one　of　the　twenty…foot…diameter　redwood　trunks。
　He　is　tempted。　The　spectacle　would　be　gratifying。　He　spares　the　woman　in　the　Honda　only　because　he's　in　a　mood　for　subtle…rather　than　explosive…sensation。　This　gratifying　expedition　has　brought　him　not　merely　the　Napa　Valley　family　that　he　originally　set　out　to　destroy；　but　the　hitchhiker　now　hanging　in　the　bedroom　closet　like　Poe's　lover　of　Amontillado　in　the　stone　wall　of　a　wine　cellar；　as　well　as　the　two　clerks　at　the　service　station。　This　is　already　a　satiating）；　richness。　The　reef　of　the　soul　is　built　from　varied　experience；　not　from　repetitive　sensation。　Right　now　he　doesn't　need　the　somber　music　of　blood　and　the　spurting　warmth　of　screams；　instead；　he　needs　to　smell　the　wetness　of　the　rain；　feel　the　towering　mass　of　the　trees；　and　listen　to　the　cool　pendulousness　of　the　night…hidden　ferns。
　He　applies　the　brakes；　cutting　his　speed。　The　Honda　streaks　past　him；　kicking　up　a　high　spray　of　d