sk.cujo-第50部分

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'Yeah；　but　…'
'Yeah；　but　nothing。　You　aren't　going　to　scare　Donna；　that's　for　sure。　She's　not　there。　But　what　the　hell；　set　your　mind　at　rest。　It　doesn't　have　to　be　sirens　and　flashing　lights。　Just　ask　if　they　can　send　a　cop　by　to　check　and　make　sure　that　everything　looks　normal。　There　must　be　a　thousand　places　she　could　be。　Hell；　maybe　she　just　tied　into　a　really　good　Tupperware　party。'
'Donna　hates　Tupperware　parties。'
'So　maybe　the　girls　got　playing　penny…ante　poker　and　lost　track　of　the　time　and　Tad's　asleep　in　someone's　spare　room。'
Vic　remembered　her　telling　him　how　she　had　steered　clear　of　any　deep　involvement　with　'the　girls'　…　I　don't　want　to　be　one　of　those　faces　you　see　at　the　bake　sales；　she　had　said。　But　he　didn't　want　to　tell　Roger　that；　it　was　too　close　to　the　subject　of　Kemp。
'Yeah；　maybe　something　like　that；'　Vic　said。
'Have　you　got　an　extra　key　to　the　place　tucked　away　somewhere？'
'There's　one　on　a　hook　under　the　eave　of　the　front　porch。'
'Tell　the　cops。　Someone　can　go　in　and　have　a　good　look　around　。。。　unless　you've　got　pot　or　coke　or　something　you'd　just　as　soon　they　didn't　stumble　over。'
'Nothing　like　that。'
'Then　do　it；'　Roger　said　earnestly。　'She'll　probably　call　here　while　they're　out　checking　and　you'll　feel　like　a　fool；　but　sometimes　it's　good　to　feel　like　a　fool。　You　know　what　I　mean？'
'Yeah；'　Vic　said；　grinning　a　little。　'Yeah；　I　do。'
He　picked　the　telephone　up　again；　hesitated；　then　tried　home　again　first。　No　answer。　Some　of　the　fort　he　had　gotten　from　Roger　evaporated。　He　got　directory　assistance　ocr　Maine　and　jotted　down　the　number　of　the　Castle　County　Sheriff's　Department。　It　was　now　nearly　fifteen　minutes　past　twelve　on　Wednesday　morning。
Donna　Trenton　was　sitting　with　her　hands　resting　lightly　on　the　steering　wheel　of　the　Pinto。　Tad　had　finally　fallen　asleep　again；　but　his　sleep　was　not　restful；　he　twisted；　turned；　sometimes　moaned。　She　was　afraid　he　was　reliving　in　his　dreams　what　had　happened　earlier。
She　felt　his　forehead；　he　muttered　something　and　pulled　away　from　her　touch。　His　eyelids　fluttered　and　then　slipped　dosed　again。　He　felt　feverish　…　almost　surely　a　result　of　the　constant　tension　and　fear。　She　felt　feverish　herself；　and　she　was　in　severe　pain。　Her　belly　hurt；　but　those　wounds　were　superficial；　little　more　than　scratches。　She　had　been　lucky　there。　Cujo　had　damaged　her　left　leg　more。　The　wounds　there　（the　bites；　her　mind　insisted；　as　if　relishing　the　horror　of　it）　were　deep　and　ugly。　They　had　bled　a　lot　before　dotting；　and　she　hadn't　tried　to　apply　a　bandage　right　away；　although　there　was　a　first…aid　kit　in　the　Pinto's　glovebox。　Vaguely　she　supposed　she　had　hoped　that　the　flowing　blood　would　wash　the　wound　clean　。。。　did　that　really　happen；　or　was　it　just　an　old　wives'　tale？　She　didn't　know。　There　was　so　much　she　didn't　know；　so　goddam　much。
By　the　time　the　lacerated　punctures　had　finally　clotted；　her　thigh　and　the　driver's　bucket　seat　were　both　tacky　with　her　blood。　She　needed　three　gauze　pads　from　the　first…aid　kit　to　cover　the　wound。　They　were　the　last　three　in　the　kit。　Have　to　replace　those；　she　thought；　and　that　brought　on　a　short；　hysterical　fit　of　the　giggles。
In　the　faint　light；　the　flesh　just　above　her　knee　had　looked　like　dark　plowed　earth。　There　was　a　steady　throbbing　ache　there　that　had　not　changed　since　the　dog　bit　her。　She　had　dry…swallowed　a　couple　of　aspirin　from　the　kit；　but　they　didn't　make　a　dent　in　the　pain。　Her　head　ached　badly　too；　as　if　a　bundle　of　wires　were　slowly　being　twisted　tighter　and　tighter　inside　each　temple。
Flexing　the　leg　brought　the　quality　of　the　pain　up　from　a　throbbing　ache　to　a　sharp；　glassy　beat。　She　had　no　idea　if　she　could　even　walk　on　the　leg　now；　let　alone　run　for　the　porch　door。　And　did　it　really　matter？　The　dog　was　sitting　on　the　gravel　between　her　car　door　and　the　door　which　gave　on　the　porch；　its　hideously　mangled　head　drooping　。。。　but　with　its　eyes　fixed　unfailingly　on　the　car。　On　her。
Somehow　she　didn't　think　Cujo　was　going　to　move　again；　at　least　not　tonight。　Tomorrow　the　sun　might　drive　him　into　the　barn；　if　it　was　as　hot　as　it　had　been　yesterday。
'It　wants　me；'　she　whispered　through　her　blistered　lips。　It　was　true。　Somehow　it　was　true。　For　reasons　decreed　by　Fate；　or　for　its　own　unknowable　ones；　the　dog　wanted　her。
When　it　had　fallen　on　the　gravel；　she　had　been　sure　it　was　dying。　No　living　thing　could　have　taken　the　pounding　she　had　given　it　with　the　door。　Even　its　thick　fur　hadn't　been　able　to　cushion　the　blows。　One　of　the　Saint　Bernard's　ears　appeared　to　be　dangling　by　no　more　than　a　string　of　flesh。
But　it　had　regained　its　feet；　little　by　little。　She　hadn't　been　able　to　believe　her　eyes　。。。　hadn't　wanted　to　believe　her　eyes。
'No！'　she　had　shrieked；　totally　out　of　control。　'No；　lie　down；　you're　supposed　to　be　dead；　lie　down；　lie　down　and　die；　you　shit　dog！'
'Mommy；　don't；'　Tad　had　murmured；　holding　his　head。　'It　hurts　。　。　。　it　hurts　me　。　。　。'
Since　then；　nothing　in　the　situation　had　changed。　Time　had　resumed　its　former　slow　crawl。　She　had　put　her　watch　to　her　ear　several　times　to　make　sure　it　was　still　ticking；　because　the　hands　never　seemed　to　change　position。
Twenty　past　twelve。
What　do　we　know　about　rabies；　class？
Precious　little。　Some　hazy　fragments　that　had　probably　e　from　Sunday…supplement　articles。　A　pamphlet　leafed　through　idly　back　in　New　York　when　she　had　taken　the　family　cat；　Dinah；　for　her　distemper　shot　at　the　vet's。　Excuse　me；　distemper　and　rabies　shots。
Rabies；　a　disease　of　the　central　nervous　system；　the　good　old　CNS。　Causes　slow　destruction　of　same　…　but　how？　She　was　blank　on　that；　and　probably　the　doctors　were；　too。　Otherwise　the　disease　wouldn't　be　considered　so　damned　dangerous。　Of　course；　she　thought　hopefully；　I　don't　even　know　for　sure　that　the　dog　is　rabid。　The　only　rabid　dog　I've　ever　seen　was　the　one　Gregory　Peck　shot　with　a　rifle　in　To　Kill　a　Mockingbird。　Except　of　course　that　dog　wasn't　really　rabid；　it　was　just　pretend；　it　was　probably　some　mangy　mutt　they'd　gotten　from　the　local　pound　and　they　put　Gillette　Foamy　all　over　him。。。。
She　pulled　her　mind　back　to　the　point。　Better　to　make　what　Vic　called　a　worst…case　analysis；　at　least　for　now。　Besides；　in　her　heart　she　was　sure　the　dog　was　rabid　~　what　else　would　make　it　behave　as　it　had？　The　dog　was　as　mad　as　a　hatter。
And　it　had　bitten　her。　Badly。　What　did　that　mean？
People　could　get　rabies；　she　knew；　and　it　was　a　horrible　way　to　die。　Maybe　the　worst。　There　was　a　vaccine　for　it；　and　a　series　of　injections　was　the　prescribed　method　of　treatment。　The　injections　were　quite　painful；　although　probably　not　as　painful　as　going　the　way　the　dog　out　there　was　going。　But　。。。
She　seemed　to　remember　reading　that　there　were　only　two　instances　where　people　had　lived　through　an　advanced　case　of　rabies　…　a　case；　that　is；　that　had　not　been　diagnosed　until　the　carriers　had　begun　exhibiting　symptoms。　One　of　the　survivors　was　a　boy　who　had　recovered　entirely。　The　other　had　been　an　animal　researcher　who　had　suffered　permanent　brain　damage。　The　good　old　CNS　had　just　fallen　apart。
The　longer　the　disease　went　untreated；　the　less　chance　there　was。　She　rubbed　her　forehead　and　her　hand　skidded　across　a　film　of　cold　sweat。
How　long　was　too　long？　Hours？　Days？　Weeks？　A　month；　maybe？　She　didn't　know。
Suddenly　the　car　seemed　to　be　shrinking。　It　was　the　size　of　a　Honda；　then　the　size　of　those　strange　little　three…wheelers　they　used　to　give　disabled　people　in　England；　then　the　size　of　an　enclosed　motorcycle　sidecar；　finally　the　size　of　a　coffin。　A　double　coffin　for　her　and　Tad。　They　had　to　get　out；　get　out；　get　out　
Her　hand　was　fumbling　for　the　doorhandle　before　she　got　hold　of　herself　again。　Her　heart　was　racing；　accelerating　the　thudding　in　her　head。　Please；　she　thought。　It's　bad　enough　without　claustrophobia；　so　please　。。。　please　。。。　please。
Her　thirst　was　back　again；　raging。
She　looked　out　and　Cujo　stared　implacably　back　at　her；　his　body　seemingly　split　in　two　by　the　silver　crack　running　through　the　window。
Help　us；　someone；　she　thought。　Please；　please；　help　us。
Roscoe　Fisher　was　parked　back　in　the　shadows　of　Jerry's　Citgo　when　the　call　came　in。　He　was　ostensibly　watching　for　speeders；　but　in　actual　fact　he　was　cooping。　At　twelve　thirty　on　a　Wednesday　morning；　Route　117　was　totally　dead。　He　had　a　little　alarm　clock　inside　his　skull；　and　he　trusted　it　to　wake　him　up　around　one；　when　the　Norway　Drive…In　let　out。　Then　there　might　be　some　action。
'Unit　three；　e　in；　unit　three。　Over。'
Roscoe　snapped　awake；　spilling　cold　coffee　in　a　Styrofoam　cup　down　into　his　crotch。
'Oh　shitfire；'　Roscoe　said　dolefully。　'Now　that's　nice；　isn't　it？　Kee…rist！'
'Unit　three；　you　copy？　Over？'
He　grabbed　the　mike　and　pushed　the　button　on　the　side。　'I　copy；　base。'　He　would　have　liked　to　have　added　that　he　hoped　it　was　good　because　he　was　sitting　with　his　balls　in　a　puddle　of　cold　coffee；　but　you　never　knew　who　was　monitoring　police　calls　on　his　or　her　trusty　Bearcat　scanner　。。。　even　at　twelve　thirty　in　the　morning。
'Want　you　to　take　a　run　up　to　Eighty…three　Larch　Street；'　Billy　said。　'Residence　of　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Victor　Trenton。　。Check　the　place　out。　Over。'
'What　am　I　checking　for；　base？　Over。'
'Trenton's　in　Boston　and　no　one's　answering　his　calls。　He　thinks　someone　should　be　home。　Over。'
Well；　that's　wonderful；　isn't　it？　Roscoe　Fisher　thought　sourly。　For　this　I　got　a　four…buck　cleaning　bill；　and　if　I　do　have　to　stop　a　speeder；　the　guy's　going　to　think　I　got　so　excited　at　the　prospect　of　a　collar　that　I　pissed　myself。
'Ten…four　and　time　out；'　Roscoe　said；　starting　his　cruiser。　'Over。'
'I　make　it　twelve　thirty…four　A。M。；'　Billy　said。　'There's　a　key　hanging　on　a　nail　under　the　front　porch　eave；　unit　three。　Mr。　Trenton　would　like　you　to　go　right　on　inside　and　look　around　if　the　premises　appear　deserted。　Over。'
'Roger；　base。　Over　and　out。'
'Out。'
Roscoe　popped　on　his　headlights　and　cruised　down　Castle　Rock's　deserted　Main　Street；　past　the　mon　and　the　bandstand　with　its　conical　green　roof。　He　went　up　the　hill　and　turned　right　on　Larch　Street　near　the　top。　The　Trentons'　was　the　second　house　from　the　corner；　and　he　saw　that　in　the　daytime　they　would　have　a　nice　view　of　the　town　below。　He　pulled　the　Sheriff's　Department　Fury　III　up　to　the　curb　and　got　out；　closing　the　door　quietly