gns.snakes-第7部分

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　　'Good。　And　now；　unfortunately；　I　must　give　a　press　conference。　You　can　imagine　how　some　of　the　more　sensational　dailies　will　blow　the　whole　thing　up。　An　awful　lot　of　people　in　Britain　are　not　going　to　sleep　easy　in　their　beds　until　every　one　of　those　snakes　is　dead。'
　　
　　John　Price　followed　the　others　outside；　pausing　in　the　doorway　to　glance　back　at　the　senior　police　officer。　Burlington's　dislike　of　the　zoologist　had　not　gone　unnoticed。　Whatever　happened　John　knew　he　was　the　odd　man　out。　If　they　were　successful　the　police　and　army　would　take　the　credit；　if　they　failed　they　had　a　scapegoat。　He　accepted　his　lot　with　a　shrug。
　　
　　So　much　for　a　week's　vacation　with　Aunt　Elsie；　his　mother's　sister；　his　last　surviving　relative。　One　came　to　the　countryside　for　a　few　days　away　from　it　all　and　found　oneself　caught　up　in　something　too　awful　to　contemplate。　They　didn't　realise；　none　of　them；　and　there　was　no　way　of　making　them　until　they　met　up　with　the　escaped　killers。　Each　and　every　one　of　those　snakes　was　a　cunning　and　deadly　killer；　a　master　of　camouflage；　an　expert　in　ambush。　They　remembered　their　long　incarceration；　in　an　inexplicable　way　they　were　seeking　revenge。
　　
　　To　begin　with　they　would　run。
　　
　　Then　they　would　turn　and　fight。
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　5
　　
　　ELSIE　HARRISON　was　in　the　twilight　of　her　life；　at　seventy…six　the　only　thing　to　look　forward　to　was　the　visit　of　her　nephew；　John　Price；　the　only　person　in　the　world　she　had。　Not　that　the　villagers　of　Stainforth　were　unkind　to　her；　but　when　you　were　getting　on　the　only　people　who　really　cared　for　you　were　your　own　kin。　The　loneliness　of　old　age　had　closed　in　on　her　this　last　couple　of　years　or　so。
　　
　　Small　and　frail；　her　white　hair　tied　up　in　a　bun　on　the　back　of　her　head；　Elsie　walked　with　two　sticks。　She　had　built　her　hopes　on　a　replacement　hip　early　last　year；　had　even　gone　into　hospital　for　the　op。　and　then　they　had　shattered　her　by　telling　her　that　her　heart　wasn't　strong　enough　to　stand　it　and　had　sent　her　home　to　be　a　cripple　for　the　rest　of　her　life。　In　due　course　she　came　to　accept　the　fact　that　she　would　not　be　able　to　dispense　with　her　sticks；　and　she　endured　the　worsening　pain　and　decreasing　mobility　because　the　next　step　would　be　a　wheelchair　and　that　meant　going　into　a　home。　And　when　that　happened　she　wanted　to　die。
　　
　　After　Bert　had　passed　away　（he　had　lingered　on　for　a　whole　year　following　that　terrible　afternoon　when　he　had　suffered　a　stroke　in　the　garden）；　she　sold　the　cottage　and　bought　this　small　bungalow　on　the　edge　of　the　village。　She　missed　Daffodil　Cottage　with　its　quaint　tumbledown　features　and　the　ivy　over　the　front　porch；　but　there　was　no　way　she　could　have　kept　it　on　and　the　garden　would　have　to　have　gone　untended　and　Bert　wouldn't　have　liked　that。　Neither；　she　winced　at　the　thought；　would　he　have　approved　of　what　those　people　from　Manchester　who　bought　it　had　done　to　it。　They　had　pletely　destroyed　its　character；　knocked　down　walls；　built　a　modern　extension；　one　of　those　pine　structures　that　might　have　e　all　the　way　from　Canada；　turned　it　into　something　that　looked　like　a　log…cabin。　And　they　weren't　interested　in　gardening；　either。　They　had　landscaped　the　whole　place；　built　hideous　rockeries　and　made　slab　paths；　there　was　not　a　vegetable　in　sight；　and　they　had　ripped　out　all　the　soft　fruit　bushes　too。　Vandalism。　Perhaps　it　was　as　well　that　her　husband　was　not　here　to　see　it。　Just　thinking　of　Bert　brought　tears　to　her　eyes　and　she　hoped　her　Maker　would　decide　that　it　was　time　to　send　for　her；　too；　before　long。
　　
　　The　district　nurse　had　tried　to　persuade　her　to　have　one　of　those　aluminium　walking…frames。　Certainly　not；　she　had　told　the　rather　sharp…tongued　woman　who　always　thought　she　knew　best　and　that　you　had　no　right　to　have　an　opinion　of　your　own；　when　she　needed　that　she　did　not　want　to　be　here　anymore。　Elsie　would　manage　with　her　sticks；　she　would　defy　them　all　right　up　to　the　very　end。
　　
　　But　this　was　no　time　to　indulge　in　self…pity　with　John　here　for　a　few　days。　She　worried　a　lot　about　the　boy；　all　this　college　education　and　he　finished　up　no　better　off　than　any　of　the　other　youths　out　of　work　who　didn't　have　a　qualification　or　a　skill　to　their　name。　Young　Doyle　out　of　the　village　was　another　example。　He'd　got　five　'A！　levels　and　a　lot　of　good　it　had　done　him。　Never　worked　since　he　left　school　until　in　the　end　he　got　so　fed　up　with　doing　nothing　that　he'd　built　up　a　gardening　round　for　himself。　All　credit　to　the　boy　but　gardening　was　a　hobby　like　it　had　been　with　Bert；　not　a　way　of　earning　your　living。　It　was　just　labouring；　nothing　more。
　　
　　Elsie　hobbled　across　to　the　kettle　and　switched　it　on。　My；　how　she　missed　her　old　Rayburn　with　the　kettle　bubbling　on　top　of　it　all　the　time；　but　that　was　the　price　you　had　to　pay　for　growing　old。
　　
　　She　wondered　how　long　John　was　going　to　be　away。　He'd　said　probably　most　of　the　day。　It　wasn't　fair；　the　police　dragging　him　away　from　her　like　that　to　help　them　look　for　these　escaped　snakes。　Horrible　things　snakes；　whatever　was　John　thinking　about　when　he　elected　to　study　them　at　university？　His　mother　and　father　should　never　have　allowed　it；　they　should　have　taken　a　firmer　line　with　him。　Not　enough　discipline；　but　she　would　probably　have　been　equally　soft　with　him　if　he　had　been　her　son。　She　missed　not　having　children　of　her　own；　that　was　another　cruel　twist　life　had　dealt　her　but　she'd　make　do　with　her　nephew。　She　wished　he　would　shave　that　awful　beard　off；　though。　And　have　his　hair　cut　properly。　If　he　didn't　like　wearing　a　suit　then　why　on　earth　couldn't　he　settle　for　a　nice　smart　sports　jacket　and　flannels　instead　of　those　disreputable　jeans？　He　needed　to　smarten　himself　up　and　then　at　least　he'd　stand　a　chance　of　getting　a　job。　All　the　same；　she　mustn't　nag　him　too　much　or　else　he　might　not　e　and　stay　with　her　again；　and　that　was　an　unbearable　thought。
　　
　　She　poured　herself　a　cup　of　tea；　hobbled　back　to　her　chair　by　the　gas…fire　with　it。　At　least　in　this　hot　weather　she　didn't　need　to　light　the　gas　and　that　was　a　relief。　After　selling　the　cottage　and　buying　this　bungalow　she　had　to　rely　solely　on　her　pension。
　　
　　Her　thoughts　turned　to　the　snakes　again。　What　a　terrible　thing　to　happen。　PC　Aylott　had　called　round　earlier　in　the　day　to　warn　her；　warn　everybody　in　Stainforth　to　stay　indoors　and　keep　the　doors　and　windows　shut。　Well；　you　couldn't　really　do　that　this　weather；　the　heat　would　suffocate　you。　Those　snakes　wouldn't　be　looking　to　enter　houses；　she　told　herself；　they　would　be　heading　for　the　woods　and　the　moors；　as　far　from　human　habitation　as　they　could　get。
　　
　　She　dozed；　aware　of　the　flies　buzzing　on　the　windows；　a　kind　of　soothing　summer　sound；　perhaps　the　only　redeemable　feature　the　filthy　little　insects　had。　Later　on　she　would　give　them　a　squirt　of　fly…killer　but　she　couldn't　be　bothered　right　now。
　　
　　Footsteps。　She　opened　her　eyes；　listened；　tried　to　will　them　to　turn　in　off　the　pavement　and　crunch　their　way　up　the　short　gravel　path　to　the　front　door。　But　they　carried　on；　faded　away　in　the　direction　of　the　village；　sank　her　hopes。
　　
　　Goodness；　it　was　almost　dusk；　she　must　have　fallen　asleep。　Surely　John　wouldn't　be　long　now。　She　began　to　worry；　it　was　almost　half　past　nine。　If　he　wasn't　home　by　ten　then　she　would　go　to　the　fence　and　shout　for　the　Howarths；　ask　them　to　phone　the　police　station　for　news　of　her　nephew。　The　Howarths　were　always　very　good　about　phoning　for　her；　she　really　ought　to　get　a　telephone　of　her　own　put　in　before　the　winter　in　case　of　an　emergency。　She'd　give　John　until　ten　o'clock；　no　longer。
　　
　　The　grandfather　clock　in　the　corner　ticked　loudly。　Somehow　it　was　out　of　place　in　this　modern　bungalow　but　she　wouldn't　get　rid　of　it。　You　had　to　cling　on　to　a　few　things　that　reminded　you　of　happier　days。

　　
　　Ten　to　ten。　Elsie　Harrison　sucked　her　lips；　it　really　was　getting　quite　dark　outside　now。　She　listened　hard；　but　there　did　not　seem　to　be　anybody　about　outside　at　all。　Probably　the　villagers　had　taken　the　policeman's　advice　literally　and　were　all　remaining　indoors。　She　wondered　if　the　Howarths　might　have　their　windows　shut　and　be　unable　to　hear　her。　She　must　do　her　best　to　rouse　them。
　　
　　She　reached　for　her　sticks；　had　to　exert　considerable　effort　to　haul　herself　up　out　of　the　easy　chair；　felt　a　wave　of　slight　dizziness　as　she　came　upright。　That　was　her　blood　pressure　but　she　wasn't　going　to　tell　the　nurse　about　her　dizzy　turns；　she　knew　too　much　about　her　already。
　　
　　She　felt　for　the　light　switch；　pressed　it　down。　The　strip　light　in　the　ceiling　flickered　hesitantly；　took　a　second　or　two　before　it　gave　off　that　dazzling　white　light　that　lit　up　every　corner　of　the　room。　Elsie　Harrison　blinked；　had　to　wait　for　her　eyes　to　adjust。　One　unsteady　step　in　the　direction　of　the　door　and　then　she　stopped；　gave　a　little　cry　of　fear。
　　
　　The　snake　was　lying　on　the　mat　just　inside　the　slightly　open　back　door。　Motionless；　it　might　have　been　dead；　or　a　stuffed　woollen　draught…stopper　like　those　they　sold　for　75p　down　at　the　church　rummage　sales；　except　that　its　eyes　moved；　glittered　and　winked　evilly　in　the　fluorescent　lighting。
　　
　　The　reptile　was　three　feet；　maybe　four　feet　long；　olive　coloured；　tapering　from　the　blunt　squat　snout　down　to　a　fine　slender　tail。　Now　it　moved；　almost　a　lazy　stretching　of　its　entire　body。　See　just　how　long　I　am　and　I'm　not　dead　or　stuffed。　I'm　alive！
　　
　　Elsie　Harrison's　dizziness　returned　causing　her　to　sway　unsteadily　and　then　it　passed。　Her　heart　began　to　pound　as　though　it　were　deliberately　racing　against　the　ticking　of　the　grandfather　clock　in　the　corner；　triggering　off　her　fear。　She　wanted　to　scream；　a　piercing　cry　that　would　fetch　the　Howarths　round　on　the　run；　but　her　throat　had　gone　dry　and　a　kind　of　temporary　seizure　paralysed　her　vocal　cords。
　　
　　She　glanced　about　her。　The　snake　barred　her　escape　via　the　door　and　she　could　not　reach　the　window　without　going　near　the　fearsome　intruder。　Just　the　corner　behind　the　chair　she　had　vacated；　nowhere　else。　She　was　trapped。
　　
　　Keeping　her　eyes　firmly　on　the　reptile　she　moved　awkwardly；　unsteadily　backwards；　u