gns.snakes-第29部分

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　　The　corporal　pushed　fresh　shells　into　the　breech；　snapped　the　barrels　shut　but　he　was　too　late。　Its　vicious　lunge；　a　hurtling　forward　of　its　dragging　body；　sent　the　gun　spinning　from　his　grasp；　its　fangs　fastening　in　his　throat；　cutting　off　his　scream　as　it　tore　out　the　flesh；　blinded　itself　temporarily　in　a　fountain　of　human　blood。
　　
　　Its　instinct　was　to　wrap　itself　around　the　body　of　its　prey；　crush　it　to　a　mulch；　but　it　sensed　that　it　no　longer　had　the　strength；　time　was　running　out。　It　flopped　back；　ignored　the　fallen　convulsing　human　who　still　jetted　scarlet　blood　from　his　throat　wound；　lay　there　and　felt　the　pain　from　its　own　injury；　knew　that　it；　the　king　of　the　snakes；　must　flee。　Only　its　supreme　strength　enabled　it　to　turn；　to　head　back　the　way　it　had　e；　its　frantic　slithering　slowing　with　every　yard。　Bright　lights　blinded　it；　it　heard　the　roaring　of　engines；　the　frantic　shouts　of　men　who　saw　it；　knew　that　it　was　fatally　wounded；　yet　kept　their　distance。　If　it　could　only　get　back　to　that　dark　hole　in　the　ground　it　would　be　safe。
　　
　　The　Land　Rover　had　stopped　on　the　road；　the　mobile　searchlight　on　the　cab　focused　on　the　twitching　python。　Three　soldiers　ran　forward；　fanned　out　into　a　semicircle；　Browning　5…shot　automatic　shotguns　at　the　ready。
　　
　　The　corporal　was　dead；　the　big　snake　had　almost　had　it；　but　they　were　not　taking　any　chances。　A　volley　of　gunfire　shattered　the　stillness　of　the　summer　night；　each　soldier　emptying　his　magazine　into　the　African　rock　python。　Dissecting　it；　decapitating　it；　cutting　it　into　segments；　splattering　the　reptilian　body　across　the　forecourt；　reducing　it　to　an　unrecognisable　mulch。　Later　the　experts　would　scrape　up　the　remains；　cross　it　off　their　list。　Another　one　down；　five　to　go。
　　
　　The　King　of　the　Snakes　was　dead。
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　18
　　
　　JOHN　PRICE　had　lost　valuable　time　on　the　A701　just　outside　Dumfries。　The　petrol　pump　was　playing　up；　cutting　out　every　few　miles；　bringing　him　to　a　stop。　He　pulled　into　the　side　of　the　road；　waited　a　few　minutes　and　the　engine　started　again；　a　spasmodic　fault　that　would　worsen　over　the　miles。　Disconcerting　on　the　motorway；　always　the　nagging　fear　that　it　might　stop　you　in　the　middle　of　the　fast　lane　。　。　。
　　
　　In　all　probability　the　car　would　get　him　back　to　Stainforth。　In　stages。　There　was　no　time　to　stop　and　get　it　fixed。　Sorry；　sir；　we　don't　seem　to　have　a　pump　in　stock　but　we　can　phone　and　get　one　sent　out　from　Glasgow；　no　more　than　a　couple　of　hours　at　the　most。　He　decided　to　chance　it。
　　
　　The　last　thing　he　wanted　was　attention　drawn　to　that　battered　suitcase　on　the　back　seat　with　a　number　of　holes　punched　in　the　scuffed　leather；　some　busybody　of　a　mechanic　poking　his　nose　into　what　did　not　concern　him。　There's　something　alive　in　that　case；　mister。　Yes；　it's　ferrets；　I　do　a　bit　of　rabbiting　now　and　then。　That's　odd；　I　keep　ferrets　myself；　mister；　but　you　can't　ferret　rabbits　at　this　time　of　the　year。　They're　breeding；　your　ferrets　will　lie　up　eating　the　baby　rabbits　and　you'll　never　get　'em　out　of　the　warrens。　Mind　your　own　fucking　business；　I'll　ferret　whenever　I　want　to。
　　
　　John　could　not　chance　anybody　seeing　those　two　animals　that　were　lying　asleep　in　the　cramped；　suffocating　suitcase。　Rick　and　Tick；　a　pair　of　mongooses；　at　first　sight　the　layman　might　mistake　them　for　ferrets　but　their　size　would　give　the　game　away。　About　a　metre　in　length　with　brownish　grey　fur；　short　legs；　pointed　muzzle　and　a　long　bushy　tail。　Domesticated　up　to　a　point…until　they　scented　snakes　and　then　they　reverted　to　their　wild　instincts。　At　least；　John　hoped　they　would。　The　safety　of　the　people　of　Stainforth　depended　upon　it。　It　was　like　that　experiment　that　the　Forestry　mission　were　conducting；　importing　a　predatory　insect　from　Sweden　in　an　attempt　to　eradicate　the　larch　beetle　from　the　forests　of　Wales。　They　could　not　be　sure　whether　or　not　it　would　work。　A　process　of　trial　and　error。
　　
　　Once　he　hit　the　motorway　he　kept　to　the　slow　lane；　joined　a　mile…long　convoy　of　heavy　transport　lorries。　Twice　the　petrol　pump　faltered　and　he　glided　on　to　the　hard　shoulder；　waited；　resumed　his　journey。　As　long　as　some　bloody　police　motorway　patrol　car　doesn't　e　along　trying　to　be　helpful；　I'll　be　all　right；　he　decided。　They　didn't；　they　were　too　busy　policing　the　fast　lane。
　　
　　He　estimated　that　it　would　be　midnight　before　he　reached　Stainforth；　began　to　re…think　his　plan　of　action。　Realistically　an　hour　or　two　did　not　make　much　difference　（except　that　somebody　else　might　get　killed　in　the　meantime）；　so　long　as　he　released　the　creatures　under　cover　of　darkness　nobody　would　be　any　the　wiser。　He　just　hoped　Rick　and　Tick　would　keep　clear　of　soldiers　and　police；　would　not　get　shot　by　some　trigger…happy　rookie。
　　
　　It　was　12。15　when　he　pulled　up　at　the　roadblock　on　the　outskirts　of　the　village。　Fortunately　the　soldier　on　duty　recognised　him；　waved　him　through。　He　drove　on　steadily　through　the　village；　noted　the　Land　Rovers　and　trucks　parked　at　intervals；　knew　that　armed　police　and　soldiers　would　be　stationed　nearby　in　the　shadows。　Waiting。
　　
　　He　parked　outside　Aunt　Elsie's　bungalow；　carried　the　suitcase　up　the　short　drive　and　round　the　back；　laid　it　down　adjacent　to　the　aluminium　coal…bunker。
　　
　　He　was　trembling；　trying　to　peer　into　the　shadows；　expecting　an　armed　figure　to　emerge　at　any　second。　'What　you　got　there；　son？　Releasing　wild　animals　into　the　environment；　eh！　I'll　have　to　report　it。　And　in　the　meantime　I'll　hang　on　to　those　creatures。'
　　
　　But　nobody　came；　there　was　no　sound　to　be　heard　anywhere；　Stainforth　might　have　been　any　one　of　a　thousand　English　villages　on　a　hot　summer's　night；　its　inhabitants　fast　asleep　in　bed。　Except　that　John　Price　knew　different。　He　was　sweating　heavily。

　　
　　He　unfastened　the　straps；　lifted　the　lid　cautiously；　made　out　the　silhouettes　of　two　ferret…like　bodies；　heads　upraised　enquiringly。　Thank　Christ　they　were　still　alive；　it　had　been　stifling　in　the　Mini。
　　
　　'This　is　it；　Rick　and　Tick；'　He　spoke　softly；　let　the　lid　of　the　case　rest　back　against　the　bunker。　'It's　up　to　you　now。　Go　and　do　your　stuff　and　when　you've　finished　the　case　will　be　here　for　you　to　e　back　to。'　They　don't　understand；　but　you　have　to　talk　to　animals；　gain　their　confidence。　Just　let　'em　go　and　roam　until　they　get　a　sniff　of　snakes。
　　
　　The　two　mongooses　just　lay　there；　made　no　attempt　to　leave　their　temporary　home。　He　thought　about　lifting　them　out　but　decided　against　it。　It　was　their　show；　they　would　have　to　do　it　their　way　without　his　interference。　Just　leave　them　to　get　on　with　it。
　　
　　He　tip…toed　away；　retired　to　the　back　door；　stood　just　inside　with　the　door　ajar；　watching　intently。　But　the　snake…killers　appeared　to　be　in　no　hurry。　They　were　confused；　they　might　still　be　there　in　the　morning。　It　was　asking　a　lot　of　them。
　　
　　He　went　inside；　closed　the　door；　and　stretched　himself　out　on　the　settee。　He　needed　to　rest。
　　
　　A　burst　of　gunfire　jerked　him　out　of　a　deep　sleep；　a　volley　of　shots　that　were　still　echoing　across　the　village　by　the　time　he　made　it　to　the　back　door。　People　were　shouting；　vehicles　were　on　the　move。　Something　had　happened。
　　
　　And　when　he　checked　on　that　old　suitcase　outside　it　was　empty。　The　mongooses　had　done　what　he　had　wanted　them　to　do；　slunk　off　into　the　darkness　of　a　village　that　was　alive　with　the　threat　of　reptilian　death。
　　
　　It　was　the　second　night　in　succession　that　Cynthia　Eversham　had　heard　the　rattlesnake　in　her　dreams；　like　a　bag　of　witchdoctor's　dried　bones　being　shaken　frantically；　a　sinister　background　noise　that　got　louder。　And　louder。　Until　it　woke　her　up；　brought　her　upright　in　bed；　her　naked　body　shiny　with　sweat；　a　scream　forming　on　her　lips。
　　
　　This　time　she　screamed　because　she　knew　it　was　not　a　nightmarish　figment　of　a　bereaved　and　tortured　mind。　It　was　real！
　　
　　She　stared　about　her　in　the　darkness；　feared　for　one　terrible　moment　that　the　reptile　was　in　the　room。　No；　it　was　outside　somewhere；　down　below　on　the　drive。
　　
　　She　didn't　want　to　look；　never　wanted　to　see　a　snake　again　as　long　as　she　lived　but　she　had　to　check；　make　sure。
　　
　　Cynthia　climbed　out　of　bed；　crossed　to　the　window；　parted　the　curtains。　She　had　taken　to　leaving　the　exterior　light　on　all　night　since　Peter's　death；　a　150…watt　bulb　which　illuminated　almost　the　entire　driveway。　And　now　there　was　no　doubt　in　her　mind　that　it　was　a　snake　that　was　making　the　noise。　Reality；　no　dream；　a　six…foot　length　of　diamond…covered　death　flinging　itself　insanely　at　the　door。
　　
　　The　thing　was　mad；　crazy　with　anger；　obsessed　with　a　desire　to　force　an　entry；　throwing　itself　at　the　polished　oak…panelled　woodwork；　falling　back；　trying　again；　a　whiplash　of　fury　that　had　only　one　thought　in　its　poisoned　mind…to　kill；　to　take　revenge　on　those　who　had　slaughtered　its　mate。　It　knew；　you　could　tell；　knew　that　this　was　the　place。　Cynical　vengeance…it　would　take　the　life　of　the　mate　of　he　who　had　slaughtered　its　own　mate。
　　
　　But　it　could　not　get　inside　the　house。　Or　could　it？　Cynthia　clutched　the　window　sill；　her　terror　mounting。　Not　through　the　door；　certainly；　but　perhaps　there　was　a　ventilator　somewhere　through　which　it　could　pass　by　contracting　its　vile　body。　Or　a　window　left　open。　When　your　husband　was　three　days　dead　you　could　not　rely　on　yourself　to　attend　to　detail。
　　
　　She　was　safe；　though。　All　she　had　to　do　was　to　ensure　that　the　bedroom　door　was　shut；　pick　up　the　bedside　phone　and　call　the　police。　They　would　e　with　guns；　shoot　the　snake。　
　　
　　Even　as　she　was　turning　away　to　check　the　door　something　out　on　the　drive　caught　her　eye；　had　her　peering　intently。　A　cat　or　something；　a　creature　which　travelled　in　furtive　darting　movements；　crouched　low。　The　snake　will　kill　it！　She　wanted　to　tap　the　window；　shout；　warn　it　before　it　was　too　late。　But　she　could　not　move；　just　stood　transfixed。
　　
　　It　was　no　cat；　it　was　too　large；　had　a　bushy　tail　like　a　fox　but　it　certainly　was　not　Reynard。　It　was　chattering；　a　sound　that　reminded　her　of　a　flock　of　birds　feeding　hungrily　on　a　bird…table　in　winter。
　　
　　The　rattler　had　stopped　hurling　itself