gns.snakes-第20部分

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　　It's　just　a　bloody　waste　of　time；　you're　fooling　yourself。　Coward！　You　won't　know　for　sure　if　you　don't　go　out　there　and　look。　And　if　they're　not　around　you　won't　be　in　any　danger；　will　you？　You　will　have　been　seen　to　have　done　something　positive；　not　just　sat　here　all　night　on　your　arse　as　you're　perfectly　entitled　to　do。　Well　done；　Constable；　you　didn't　find　the　snakes　but　at　least　you　did　your　best。　A　fraction　of　the　way　towards　getting　your　stripes。
　　
　　Ken　Aylott　swallowed　the　rest　of　his　coffee　at　one　gulp　and　stood　up。　He'd　better　take　a　pair　of　those　rubber　boots　off　the　heap　in　the　corner；　size　nines；　just　to　make　his　feet　sweat　and　stink。　A　torch；　too。　He　thought　about　a　shotgun　out　of　the　armoury　in　the　back　and　decided　against　it；　too　many　plications　if　anything　went　wrong。　The　police　weren't　allowed　to　arm　themselves　except　on　written　instructions　from　the　Chief　Constable。　I　was　hunting　snakes；　sir。　All　the　other　officers　carried　guns　in　the　daytime。　In　the　daytime；　Constable；　but　you　had　no　right　to　be　prowling　about　the　village　in　the　dead　of　night　with　a　gun。　It　amounts　to　armed　trespass　for　which　you　will　be　disciplined。　Bloody　hell；　better　leave　the　gun　and　play　safe。　I'm　not　out　to　shoot　the　snakes　or　enrage　them　like　Eversham　obviously　did；　I'm　only　going　to　try　and　locate　them。　I've　discovered　their　lair；　Superintendent；　they're　in　the　。。。　Ken　could　not　for　the　life　of　him　think　where　they　might　be。　It　didn't　really　matter；　suffice　it　that　he　had　had　the　guts　to　go　out　there　in　the　dark；　prove　himself　to　himself。
　　
　　The　occasional　streetlight　broke　up　the　pitch　blackness　of　a　summer　night；　created　its　own　atmosphere　of　gloom。　Eerie；　the　night　was　nowhere　near　so　balmy　as　it　had　been　a　short　time　ago。　Insects　dive…bombed　a　lamp；　seemed　intent　on　kamikaze　attacks。　Aylott　looked　upwards；　was　aware　of　a　myriad　of　stars；　searched　for　the　moon　and　detected　a　silver　sliver；　barely　discernible。　A　full　moon　would　have　been　helpful。　With　a　torch　you　felt　so　vulnerable；　gave　your　movements　and　position　away。
　　
　　Further　down　the　main　street　he　had　to　use　his　flashlight。　Now　why　the　devil　hadn't　they　continued　with　the　street…lighting　down　here？　The　houses　were　more　isolated　now；　modern　dwellings　erected　after　the　line　of　stone…built　cottages　petered　out；　but　the　council　had　not　yet　got　round　to　providing　full　amenities　for　the　occupants。
　　
　　He　shone　his　beam　on　the　towering　rickety　church　lych…gate；　it　was　a　wonder　that　it　had　not　collapsed　years　ago；　rotting　and　broken　timbers；　a　half…torn　notice　of　church　service　times　hanging　on　by　a　single　drawing　pin。　When　the　winds　and　rain　came　again　（if　ever　they　did）　it　would　be　whipped　away　to　lie　rotting　in　the　bottom　of　the　cemetery　hedgerow。
　　
　　He　decided　to　check　the　church；　no　real　reason　except　that　it　seemed　the　logical　place　to　start。　He　walked　slowly　up　the　weed…covered　track；　shone　his　torch　from　side　to　side。　A　wilderness；　even　the　most　recent　graves　that　had　not　yet　had　their　tombstones　erected　were　being　hidden　behind　a　screen　of　seeding　wild　willow　herb。　There　was　room　for　maybe　another　twenty　graves　and　then　the　church　would　have　to　blow　the　whistle　on　burials　here　unless　they　obtained　permission　to　dig　up　the　roadside　verge。　Full　up；　book　your　plot　now。　He　smiled　in　the　darkness　at　his　humourless　joke　but　all　the　same　he　wondered　where　they　would　go　next。　Stainforth　had　filled　two　graveyards　in　three　centuries。　The　church　authorities　would　have　to　find　another　tract　of　consecrated　ground　or　else　resort　to　cremation。　There　were　hundreds　more　people　still　left　to　die　in　the　village。　The　snakes　could　speed　up　the　death　toll　considerably。
　　
　　There　was　no　mistaking　the　four　newly　dug　graves。　He　smelled　the　damp　soil　that　had　not　yet　had　time　to　dry　out；　sheets　of　artificial　grass　vainly　trying　to　hide　the　morbid　excavations。　The　day　after　tomorrow　was　funeral　day；　four；　one　after　the　other。　Elsie　Harrison；　Barbara　Brown　and　her　child；　Eversham；　what　was　left　of　him。　There'll　be　more　if　you　don't　find　the　snakes　soon；　copper。　Shut　up；　don't　think　about　it。
　　
　　The　church　doors　were　locked；　as　they　should　have　been；　but　it　was　second　nature　to　a　policeman　to　try　them。　The　wrought…iron　latch　rattled　like　the　bones　of　long…dead　skeletons　turning　restlessly　in　their　coffins；　echoed　inside　the　church。　Aylott　felt　uneasy；　churches　were　always　disquieting　to　him；　associating　them　with　funerals　and　with　the　victims　of　murderers　and　road　accidents。　And　snakes。
　　
　　He　would　make　sure　he　was　confined　to　his　office　on　the　day　of　the　funerals；　for　once　not　objecting　to　being　the　Force's　stooge；　the　human　telephone　answering　service　for　operational　headquarters。　You　said　I　was　to　stay　here　and　look　after　things；　sir。　I　don't　mind　at　all。
　　
　　There　would　be　a　big　turn…out　for　the　burials；　the　whole　village　plus　press　and　TV。　The　media　would　make　a　big　thing　of　it。　Get　your　head　down　over　some　paperwork；　boy；　catch　up　on　all　that　form…filling；　and　by　the　time　you've　finished　it　will　all　be　over。　Until　the　snakes　strike　again。
　　
　　Perhaps　he　should　have　attended　church　regularly　in　his　youth　and　then　he　would　not　have　had　this　secret　disquiet　about　them。　It　wasn't　just　death；　that　was　routine　to　a　policeman　whether　it　was　a　nice　peaceful　pensioner's　passing　or　a　gory　traffic　accident。　It　was　what　happened　afterwards；　the　unnecessary　morbid　ritual。　Some　claimed　it　was　a　form　of　therapy　designed　to　ease　the　grief　of　the　bereaved。　Aylott　believed　it　was　a　climax　to　horror；　brought　those　left　behind　face　to　face　with　the　grave。　This　is　the　end；　there's　nothing　else　no　matter　what　they　try　to　tell　you　。　He　had　never　had　any　time　for　the　Reverend　Philip　Emsworth；　Stainforth's　parson。　Overweight；　pink…faced；　a　flabby　handshake　and　a　condescending　voice。　A　hypocrite　if　ever　there　was　one；　a　scrounger　of　Sunday　lunches　and　afternoon　teas；　who　dodged　reality　by　erecting　a　pseudo…spiritual　barrier；　had　found　his　niche　in　this　out…of…the…way　village。　But　forting　words　were　no　defence　against　killer　snakes。
　　
　　PC　Aylott　made　a　slow　tour　of　the　cemetery；　shone　his　torch　from　one　moss…covered　tombstone　to　the　next。　Christ；　some　bugger　even　had　a　serpent　engraved　on　his　stone；　a　depiction　of　the　Garden　of　Eden。　That's　all　I　bloody　well　need。　He　shivered；　the　night　air　had　turned　very　cold。
　　
　　Well；　the　reptiles　certainly　weren't　lying　out　in　this　jungle　of　an　unkempt　cemetery。　The　constable　reached　the　furthest　boundary；　saw　a　dilapidated　wicket　gate　that　leaned　over　into　an　adjoining　section　of　rough　ground…the　original　graveyard。
　　
　　It　was　no　more　than　a　couple　of　acres　at　the　most；　triangular；　bounded　by　a　tall　straggling　hawthorn　hedge　that　had　last　been　pleached　in　1963　and　had　not　been　touched　since。　Most　of　the　graves　went　back　to　the　last　century；　their　indecipherable　headstones　having　either　been　laid　flat　or　fallen　over　and　left　that　way　because　in　the　days　when　Stainforth　Parochial　Church　Council　was　able　to　afford　a　full…time　verger　it　made　mowing　easier。　Then　came　drastic　economic　cut…backs　in　the　1970s　and　both　verger　and　mower　were　made　redundant。　Emsworth　took　it　upon　himself　to　let　the　old　graveyard　revert　to　nature；　the　hedge；　untidy　as　it　was；　screened　the　worst　of　the　wilderness　and　as　the　majority　of　those　buried　in　there　had　no　living　relatives　left　few　were　likely　to　plain。　If　you　can't　clear　up　a　mess；　hide　it；　was　one　of　the　clergyman's　many　mottoes。
　　
　　Aylott　did　not　fancy　going　in　there。　He　stood　by　the　remains　of　the　old　gate；　swinging　his　torch　beam　in　a　wide　arc；　noted　the　flattened；　tangled　growth　where　the　police　and　army　searchers　had　trodden　it　down。　There　really　was　not　much　point　in　going　in　there　for　a　second　look；　now　was　there？　Not　really；　but　if　you're　going　to　check　out　the　sandpit　at　the　far　end　you'll　have　to；　unless　you're　going　to　go　back　and　all　the　way　round　by　road。　You　don't　really　want　to　go　and　shine　your　torch　in　those　open　graves　again；　do　you？…because　if　you　walk　by　them　you'll　be　pelled　to。　The　first　one's　for　Elsie　Harrison；　the　second　for　。。。
　　
　　He　negotiated　the　leaning　broken　gate；　snapped　another　rotten　strut　with　a　loud　crack。　If　those　snakes　are　around　they　will　have　heard　that　for　sure。　But　they　surely　aren't　because　they　would　have　been　found　by　now　if　they　were。　That　was　the　best　piece　of　logic　he　had　e　up　with　all　night　and　it　made　him　feel　an　awful　lot　easier　in　his　disturbed　mind。
　　
　　Through　this　wilderness　that　used　to　be　a　cemetery；　out　into　the　sandpit　and　back　along　the　road　to　the　station；　sorry；　operational　HQ。　I　went　out　on　my　own　and　looked；　sir；　but　I'm　certain　the　snakes　aren't　in　Stainforth。　They've　moved　on　unseen　and　we'll　just　have　to　wait　until　they　turn　up　somewhere。　And　somebody　else　gets　killed。
　　
　　It　was　not　easy　walking　in　there；　the　trampled…down　grass　and　weeds　screening　large　stones　that　you　only　found　when　you　either　stubbed　your　toe　against　them　or　trod　on　them　and　wrenched　your　ankle。　A　hidden　indentation　in　the　ground　threw　PC　Aylott　headlong。　He　cursed；　picked　himself　up；　had　to　retrieve　his　torch　which　had　rolled　away。　Now　this　is　bloody　stupid；　you're　not　proving　anything　either　to　yourself　or　to　anybody　else。　You're　pandering　to　guilt；　trying　to　convince　yourself　that　you're　not　the　bloody　coward　you　thought　you　were。　And　all　the　time　you're　shit…scared。
　　
　　The　sandpit　could　not　be　far　now；　the　hedges　were　beginning　to　angle　towards　the　apex　of　the　graveyard　triangle　and　where　they　met　there　would　be　a　broken…down　stile　and　a　slope　beyond　which　he　would　have　to　negotiate　very　carefully。　Then　it　was　but　a　hundred　yards　or　so　back　to　the　road。　And　safety。
　　
　　His　foot　rested　on　something　flat　and　smooth　beneath　the　grass；　one　of　those　old　tombstones　lying　horizontally；　no　doubt。　He　rested　his　full　weight　on　it　and　felt　it　tilt　like　a　paving　slab　that　had　been　placed　on　uneven　ground。　Well；　it　was　hardly　likely　to　have　been　laid　with　a　spirit…level；　was　it？　It　。。　。
　　
　　Ken　Aylott's　brain　could　not　cope　with　what　happened　next。　A　feeling　like　vertigo；　a　loss　of　balance　and　coordination；　a　sensation　akin　to　stepping　on　to　a　hinged　trapdoor；　aware　of　it　tilting