cb.booksofblood-第31部分

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　ahead　the　track　had　mysteriously　darkened；　as　a　tide　edged　towards　the　car；　a　thick；　deep　tide　of　blood。　Judd's　reason　twisted　and　turned　to　make　any　other　sense　of　the　sight　than　that　inevitable　conclusion。　But　there　was　no　saner　explanation。　It　was　blood；　in　unendurable　abundance；　blood　without　end…And　now；　in　the　breeze；　there　was　the　flavour　of　freshly…opened　carcasses：　the　smell　out　of　the　depths　of　the　human　body；　part　sweet；　part　savoury。
　　Mick　stumbled　back　to　the　passenger's　side　of　the　VW　and　fumbled　weakly　at　the　handle。　The　door　opened　suddenly　and　he　lurched　inside；　his　eyes　glazed。
　　〃Back　up；〃　he　said。
　　Judd　reached　for　the　ignition。　The　tide　of　blood　was　already　sloshing　against　the　front　wheels。　Ahead；　the　world　had　been　painted　red。
　　〃Drive；　for　fuck's　sake；　drive！〃　Judd　was　making　no　attempt　to　start　the　car。
　　〃We　must　look；〃　he　said；　without　conviction；　〃we　have　to。〃
　　〃We　don't　have　to　do　anything；〃　said　Mick；　〃but　get　the　hell　out　of　here。　It's　not　our　business　。　。　。〃
　　〃Plane…crash…；　〃There's　no　smoke。〃
　　〃Those　are　human　voices。〃　Mick's　instinct　was　to　leave　well　alone。　He　could　read　about　the　tragedy　in　a　newspaper…he　could　see　the　pictures　tomorrow　when　they　were　grey　and　grainy。　Today　it　was　too　fresh；　too　unpredictable…Anything　could　be　at　the　end　of　that　track；　bleeding…〃We　must…〃　Judd　started　the　car；　while　beside　him　Mick　began　to　moan　quietly。　The　VW　began　to　edge　forward；　nosing　through　the　river　of　blood；　its　wheels　spinning　in　the　queasy；　foaming　tide。
　　〃No；〃　said　Mick；　very　quietly；　〃please；　no　。　。　〃We　must；〃　was　Judd's　reply。　〃We　must。　We　must。〃
　　
　　Only　a　few　yards　away　the　surviving　city　of　Popolac　was　recovering　from　its　first　convulsions。　It　stared；　with　a　thousand　eyes；　at　the　ruins　of　its　ritual　enemy；　now　spread　in　a　tangle　of　rope　and　bodies　over　the　impacted　ground；　shattered　forever。　Popolac　staggered　back　from　the　sight；　its　vast　legs　flattening　the　forest　that　bounded　the　stamping…ground；　its　arms　flailing　the　air。　But　it　kept　its　balance；　even　as　a　mon　insanity；　woken　by　the　horror　at　its　feet；　surged　through　its　sinews　and　curdled　its　brain。　The　order　went　out：　the　body　thrashed　and　twisted　and　turned　from　the　grisly　carpet　of　Podujevo；　and　fled　into　the　hills。
　　As　it　headed　into　oblivion；　its　towering　form　passed　between　the　car　and　the　sun；　throwing　its　cold　shadow　over　the　bloody　road。　Mick　saw　nothing　through　his　tears；　and　Judd；　his　eyes　narrowed　against　the　sight　he　feared　seeing　around　the　next　bend；　only　dimly　registered　that　something　had　blotted　the　light　for　a　minute。　A　cloud；　perhaps。　A　flock　of　birds。
　　Had　he　looked　up　at　that　moment；　just　stolen　a　glance　out　towards　the　north…east；　he　would　have　seen　Popolac's　head；　the　vast；　swarming　head　of　a　maddened　city；　disappearing　below　his　line　of　vision；　as　it　marched　into　the　hills。　He　would　have　known　that　this　territory　was　beyond　his　prehension；　and　that　there　was　no　healing　to　be　done　in　this　corner　of　Hell。　But　he　didn't　see　the　city；　and　he　and　Mick's　last　turning…point　had　passed。　From　now　on；　like　Popolac　and　its　dead　twin；　they　were　lost　to　sanity；　and　to　all　hope　of　life。
　　
　　They　rounded　the　bend；　and　the　ruins　of　Podujevo　came　into　sight。
　　Their　domesticated　imaginations　had　never　conceived　of　a　sight　so　unspeakably　brutal。
　　Perhaps　in　the　battlefields　of　Europe　as　many　corpses　had　been　heaped　together：　but　had　so　many　of　them　been　women　and　children；　locked　together　with　the　corpses　of　men？　There　had　been　piles　of　dead　as　high；　but　ever　so　many　so　recently　abundant　with　life？　There　had　been　cities　laid　waste　as　quickly；　but　ever　an　entire　city　lost　to　the　simple　dictate　of　gravity？
　　It　was　a　sight　beyond　sickness。　In　the　face　of　it　the　mind　slowed　to　a　snail's　pace；　the　forces　of　reason　picked　over　the　evidence　with　meticulous　hands；　searching　for　a　flaw　in　it；　a　place　where　it　could　say：　This　is　not　happening。　This　is　a　dream　of　death；　not　death　itself。
　　But　reason　could　find　no　weakness　in　the　wall。　This　was　true。　It　was　death　indeed。
　　Podujevo　had　fallen。
　　Thirty…eight　thousand；　seven　hundred　and　sixty…five　citizens　were　spread　on　the　ground；　or　rather　flung　in　ungainly；　seeping　piles。　Those　who　had　not　died　of　the　fall；　or　of　suffocation；　were　dying。　There　would　be　no　survivors　from　that　city　except　that　bundle　of　onlookers　that　had　traipsed　out　of　their　homes　to　watch　the　contest。　Those　few　Podujevians；　the　crippled；　the　sick；　the　ancient　few；　were　now　staring；　like　Mick　and　Judd；　at　the　carnage；　trying　not　to　believe。
　　Judd　was　first　out　of　the　car。　The　ground　beneath　his　suedes　was　sticky　with　coagulating　gore。　He　surveyed　the　carnage。　There　was　no　wreckage：　no　sign　of　a　plane　crash；　no　fire；　no　smell　of　fuel。　Just　tens　of　thousands　of　fresh　bodies；　all　either　naked　or　dressed　in　an　identical　grey　serge；　men；　women　and　children　alike。　Some　of　them；　he　could　see；　wore　leather　harnesses；　tightly　buckled　around　their　upper　chests；　and　snaking　out　from　these　contraptions　were　lengths　of　rope；　miles　and　miles　of　it。　The　closer　he　looked；　the　more　he　saw　of　the　extraordinary　system　of　knots　and　lashings　that　still　held　the　bodies　together。　For　some　reason　these　people　had　been　tied　together；　side　by　side。　Some　were　yoked　on　their　neighbours〃　shoulders；　straddling　them　like　boys　playing　at　horse　back　riding。　Others　were　locked　arm　in　arm；　knitted　together　with　threads　of　rope　in　a　wall　of　muscle　and　bone。　Yet　others　were　trussed　in　a　ball；　with　their　heads　tucked　between　their　knees。　All　were　in　some　way　connected　up　with　their　fellows；　tied　together　as　though　in　some　insane　collective　bondage　game。
　　Another　shot。
　　Mick　looked　up。
　　Across　the　field　a　solitary　man；　dressed　in　a　drab　overcoat；　was　walking　amongst　the　bodies　with　a　revolver；　dispatching　the　dying。　It　was　a　pitifully　inadequate　act　of　mercy；　but　he　went　on　nevertheless；　choosing　the　suffering　children　first。　Emptying　the　revolver；　filling　it　again；　emptying　it；　filling　it；　emptying　it…Mick　let　go。
　　He　yelled　at　the　top　of　his　voice　over　the　moans　of　the　injured。
　　〃What　is　this？〃　The　man　looked　up　from　his　appalling　duty；　his　face　as　dead…grey　as　his　coat。
　　〃Uh？〃　he　grunted；　frowning　at　the　two　interlopers　through　his　thick　spectacles。
　　〃What's　happened　here？〃　Mick　shouted　across　at　him。　It　felt　good　to　shout；　it　felt　good　to　sound　angry　at　the　man。　Maybe　he　was　to　blame。　It　would　be　a　fine　thing；　just　to　have　someone　to　blame。
　　〃Tell　us…〃　Mick　said。　He　could　hear　the　tears　throbbing　in　his　voice。　〃Tell　us；　for　God's　sake。　Explain。〃　Grey…coat　shook　his　head。　He　didn't　understand　a　word　this　young　idiot　was　saying。　It　was　English　he　spoke；　but　that's　all　he　knew。　Mick　began　to　walk　towards　him；　feeling　all　the　time　the　eyes　of　the　dead　on　him。　Eyes　like　black；　shining　gems　set　in　broken　faces：　eyes　looking　at　him　upside　down；　on　heads　severed　from　their　seating。　Eyes　in　heads　that　had　solid　howls　for　voices。　Eyes　in　heads　beyond　howls；　beyond　breath。　Thousands　of　eyes。
　　He　reached　Grey…coat；　whose　gun　was　almost　empty。　He　had　taken　off　his　spectacles　and　thrown　them　aside。　He　too　was　weeping；　little　jerks　ran　through　his　big；　ungainly　body。
　　At　Mick's　feet；　somebody　was　reaching　for　him。　He　didn't　want　to　look；　but　the　hand　touched　his　shoe　and　he　had　no　choice　but　to　see　its　owner。　A　young　man；　lying　like　a　flesh　swastika；　every　joint　smashed。　A　child　lay　under　him；　her　bloody　legs　poking　out　like　two　pink　sticks。
　　He　wanted　the　man's　revolver；　to　stop　the　hand　from　touching　him。　Better　still　he　wanted　a　machine…gun；　a　flame…thrower；　anything　to　wipe　the　agony　away。
　　As　he　looked　up　from　the　broken　body；　Mick　saw　Grey…coat　raise　the　revolver。
　　〃Judd…〃　he　said；　but　as　the　word　left　his　lips　the　muzzle　of　the　revolver　was　slipped　into　Grey…coat's　mouth　and　the　trigger　was　pulled。
　　Grey…coat　had　saved　the　last　bullet　for　himself。　The　back　of　his　head　opened　like　a　dropped　egg；　the　shell　of　his　skull　flying　off。　His　body　went　limp　and　sank　to　the　ground；　the　revolver　still　between　his　lips。
　　〃We　must…；　began　Mick；　saying　the　words　to　nobody。　〃We　must　。　。　。〃　What　was　the　imperative？　In　this　situation；　what　must　they　do？
　　〃We　must…〃Judd　was　behind　him。　〃Help…〃　he　said　to　Mick。
　　〃Yes。　We　must　get　help。　We　must…；　〃Go。〃　Go！　That　was　what　they　must　do。　On　any　pretext；　for　any　fragile；　cowardly　reason；　they　must　go。　Get　out　of　the　battlefield；　get　out　of　the　reach　of　a　dying　hand　with　a　wound　in　place　of　a　body。
　　〃We　have　to　tell　the　authorities。　Find　a　town。　Get　help…〃
　　〃Priests；〃　said　Mick。　〃They　need　priests。〃　It　was　absurd；　to　think　of　giving　the　Last　Rites　to　so　many　people。　It　would　take　an　army　of　priests；　a　water　cannon　filled　with　holy　water；　a　loudspeaker　to　pronounce　the　benedictions。
　　They　turned　away；　together；　from　the　horror；　and　wrapped　their　arms　around　each　other；　then　picked　their　way　through　the　carnage　to　the　car。
　　It　was　occupied。
　　Vaslav　Jelovsek　was　sitting　behind　the　wheel；　and　trying　to　start　the　Volkswagen。　He　turned　the　ignition　key　once。　Twice。　Third　time　the　engine　caught　and　the　wheels　span　in　the　crimson　mud　as　he　put　her　into　reverse　and　backed　down　the　track。　Vaslav　saw　the　Englishmen　running　towards　the　car；　cursing　him。　There　was　no　help　for　it　…he　didn't　want　to　steal　the　vehicle；　but　he　had　work　to　do。　He　had　been　a　referee；　he　had　been　responsible　for　the　contest；　and　the　safety　of　the　contestants。　One　of　the　heroic　cities　had　already　fallen。　He　must　do　everything　in　his　power　to　prevent　Popolac　from　following　its　twin。　He　must　chase　Popolac；　and　reason　with　it。　Talk　it　down　out　of　its　terrors　with　quiet　words　and　promises。　If　he　failed　there　would　be　another　disaster　the　equal　of　the　one　in　front　of　him；　and　his　conscience　was　already　broken　enough。
　　Mick　was　still　chasing　the　VW；　shouting　at　Jelovsek。　The　thief　took　no　notice；　concentrating　on　manoeuvring　the　car　back　down　the　narrow；　slippery　track。　Mick　was　losing　the　chase　rapidly。　The　car　had　begun　to　pick　up　speed。　Furious；　but　without　the　breath　to　speak　his　fury；　Mick　stood　in　the　road；　hands　on　his　knees；　heaving　and　sobbing。
　　〃Bastard！〃　said　Judd。
　　Mick　looked　down　the　track。　Their　car　had　al