dk.coldfire-第10部分

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　〃I　don't　trust　anyone。〃　
　〃There　are　good　people　in　the　world。　In　fact；　most　of　them　are　good。　
　Anyway；　when　they　stop；　I'll　know　if　they're　okay。〃　
　〃How？　How　in　God's　name　can　you　know？〃　〃I'll　know。〃　But　he　could　not　explain　the　how　of　it　any　more　than　he　could　explain　how　he　had　known　that　she　and　her　daughter　needed　him　out　here　in　this　seared　and　blistered　wasteland。　
　He　straddled　the　Harley　and　pressed　the　starter　button。　The　engine　kicked　in　at　once。　He　revved　it　a　little；　then　shut　it　off　The　woman　said；　〃Who　are　you？〃　〃I　can't　tell　you　that。〃　
　〃But　why　not？〃　〃This　one's　too　sensational。　It'll　make　nationwide　headlines。〃　
　〃I　don't　understand。〃　
　〃They'd　splash　my　picture　everywhere。　I　like　my　privacy。〃　
　A　small　utility　rack　was　bolted　to　the　back　of　the　Harley。　Jim　used　his　belt　to　strap　the　shotgun　to　it。　
　With　a　tremor　of　vulnerability　in　her　voice　that　broke　his　heart；　Lisa　said；　〃We　owe　you　so　much。〃　
　He　looked　at　her；　then　at　Susie。　The　girl　had　one　slender　arm　around　her　mother；　clinging　tightly。　She　was　not　listening　to　their　conversation。　Her　eyes　were　out　of　focus；　blank…and　her　mind　seemed　far　away。　Her　free　hand　was　at　her　mouth；　and　she　was　chewing　on　her　knuckle；　she　had　actually　broken　the　skin　and　drawn　her　own　blood。　
　He　averted　his　eyes　and　stared　down　at　the　cycle　again。　
　〃You　don't　owe　me　anything；〃　he　said。　
　〃But　you　saved…〃　〃Not　everyone；〃　he　said　quickly。　〃Not　everyone　I　should　have。〃　
　The　distant　growl　of　an　approaching　car　drew　their　attention　to　the　east。　
　They　watched　a　souped…up　black　Trans　Am　swim　out　of　the　water　mirages。　
　With　a　screech　of　brakes；　it　stopped　in　front　of　them。　Red　flames　were　painted　on　the　fender　back　of　the　front　wheel；　and　the　rims　of　both　the　wheel　wells　were　protected　with　fancy　chrome　trim。　Fat　twin　chrome　tailpipes　glistened　like　liquid　mercury　in　the　fierce　desert　sun。　
　The　driver　got　out。　He　was　about　thirty。　His　thick　black　hair　was　bed　away　from　his　face；　full　on　the　sides；　a　ducktail　in　back。　He　was　wearing　jeans　and　a　white　T…shirt　with　the　sleeves　rolled　up　to　reveal　tattoos　on　both　biceps。　
　〃Somethin'　wrong　here？〃　he　asked　across　the　car。　
　Jim　stared　at　him　for　a　beat；　then　said；　〃These　people　need　a　ride　to　the　nearest　town。〃　
　As　the　man　came　around　the　Trans　Am；　the　passenger　door　opened；　and　a　woman　got　out。　She　was　a　couple　of　years　younger　than　her　panion；　dressed　in　baggy　tan　shorts；　a　white　halter　top；　and　a　white　bandana　Unruly　dyed…blond　hair　sprayed　out　around　that　piece　of　headgear；　framing　a　face　so　heavily　made　up　that　it　looked　like　a　testing　ground　for　Max　Factor。　She　wore　too　much　clunky　costume　jewelry；　as　well：　big　dangling　silver　earrings；　three　strands　of　glass　beads　in　different　shades　of　red；　two　bracelets　on　each　wrist；　a　watch；　and　four　rings。　On　the　upper　slope　of　her　left　breast　was　a　blue　and　pink　butterfly　tattoo。　
　〃You　break　down？〃　she　asked。　
　Jim　said；　〃The　motor　home　has　a　flat。〃　
　〃I'm　Frank；〃　the　guy　said。　〃This　is　Verna。〃　He　was　chewing　gum。　
　〃I'll　help　you　fix　the　tire。〃　
　Jim　shook　his　head。　〃We　can't　use　the　motor　home　anyway。　There's　a　dead　man　in　it。〃　
　〃Dead　man？〃　〃And　another　one　over　there；〃　Jim　said；　gesturing　beyond　the　Road　king。　
　Verna　was　wide…eyed。　
　Frank　stopped　chewing　his　gum　for　a　beat；　glanced　at　the　shotgun　on　the　Harley　rack；　then　looked　at　Jim　again。　〃You　kill　them？〃　〃Yeah。　Because　they　kidnapped　this　woman　and　her　child。〃　
　Frank　studied　him　a　moment；　then　glanced　at　Lisa。　〃That　true？〃　he　asked　her。　
　She　nodded。　
　〃Jesus　jumpin'　catfish；〃　Verna　said。　
　Jim　glanced　at　Susie。　She　was　in　another　world；　and　she　would　need　some　professional　help　to　reenter　this　one。　He　was　certain　she　couldn't　hear　a　thing　they　said。　
　Curiously；　he　felt　as　detached　as　the　child　looked。　He　was　still　sinking　into　that　internal　darkness；　and　before　long　it　would　swallow　him　pletely。　He　told　Frank：　〃These　guys　I　killed…they　wasted　the　husband。　。　。　the　father。　His　body's　in　a　station　wagon　a　couple　of　miles　west　of　here。〃　
　〃Oh；　shit；〃　Frank　said；　〃that's　a　rough　one。〃　
　Verna　drew　against　Frank's　side　and　shuddered。　
　〃I　want　you　to　take　them　to　the　nearest　town；　fast　as　you　can。　Get　medical　attention　for　them。　Then　contact　the　state　police；　get　them　out　here。〃　
　〃Sure；〃　Frank　said。　
　But　Lisa　said；　〃Wait。　。　。　no。　。　。　I　can't。　。　。〃　Jim　went　to　her；　and　she　whispered　to　him：　〃They　look　like。　。　。　I　can't。　。　。　。　I'm　just　afraid。　。　。〃　
　Jim　put　a　hand　on　her　shoulder；　stared　directly　into　her　eyes。　
　〃Things　aren't　always　what　they　appear　to　be。　Frank　and　Verna　are　okay。　
　You　trust　me？〃　〃Yes。　Now。　of　course〃　〃Then　believe　me。　You　can　trust　them。〃　
　〃But　how　can　you　know？〃　she　asked；　her　voice　breaking。　
　〃I　know；〃　he　said　firmly。　
　She　continued　to　meet　his　eyes　for　a　few　seconds；　then　nodded　and　said；　〃All　right。〃　
　The　rest　was　easy。　As　docile　as　if　she　had　been　drugged；　Susie　allowed　herself　to　be　lifted　into　the　back　seat。　Her　mother　joined　her　there；　cuddled　her。　When　Frank　was　behind　the　wheel　again　and　Verna　at　his　side；　Jim　gratefully　accepted　a　can　of　root　beer　from　their　ice　chest。　
　Then　he　closed　Verna's　door；　leaned　down　to　the　open　window；　and　thanked　her　and　Frank。　
　〃You're　not　waitin'　here　for　the　cops；　are　you？〃　Frank　asked。　
　〃No。〃　
　〃You're　not　in　trouble；　you　know。　You're　the　hero　here。〃　
　〃I　know。　But　I'm　not　waiting。〃　
　Frank　nodded。　〃You　got　your　reasons；　I　guess。　You　want　us　to　say　you　was　a　bald　guy　with　dark　eyes；　hitched　a　ride　with　a　trucker　going　east？〃　〃No。　Don't　lie。　Don't　lie　for　me。〃　
　〃Whatever　you　want；〃　Frank　said。　
　Verna　said；　〃Don't　worry。　We'll　take　good　care　of　them。〃　
　〃I　know　you　will；〃　Jim　said。　
　He　drank　the　root　beer　and　watched　the　Trans　Am　until　it　had　driven　out　of　sight。　
　He　climbed　on　the　Harley；　thumbed　the　starter　button；　used　the　long　heavy　shift　to　slide　the　gear　wheel　into　place；　rolled　in　a　little　throttle；　released　the　clutch；　and　rode　across　the　highway。　He　went　off　the　shoulder；　down　the　slight　incline；　onto　the　floor　of　the　desert；　and　headed　directly　south　into　the　immense　and　inhospitable　Mojave。　
　For　a　while　he　rode　at　over　seventy　miles　an　hour；　though　he　had　no　protection　from　the　wind　because　the　SP　had　no　fairing。　He　was　badly　buffeted；　and　his　eyes　filled　repeatedly　with　tears　that　he　tried　to　blame　entirely　on　the　raw；　hot　air　that　assaulted　him。　
　Strangely；　he　did　not　mind　the　heat。　In　fact　he　didn't　even　feel　it。　He　was　sweating；　yet　he　felt　cool。　
　He　lost　track　of　time。　Perhaps　an　hour　had　passed　when　he　realized　that　he　had　left　the　plains　and　was　moving　across　barren　hills　the　color　of　rust。　
　He　reduced　his　speed。　His　route　was　now　filled　with　twists　and　turns　between　rocky　outcroppings；　but　the　SP　was　the　machine　for　it。　
　It　had　dew　inches　more　suspension　travel　fore　and　aft　than　did　the　regular　FXRS；　with　patible　spring　and　shock　rates；　plus　twin　disc　brakes　on　the　front　…which　meant　he　could　corner　like　a　stunt　rider　when　the　terrain　threw　surprises　at　him。　
　After　a　while　he　was　no　longer　cool。　He　was　cold。　
　The　sun　seemed　to　be　fading；　though　he　knew　it　was　still　early　after　noon。　Darkness　was　closing　on　him　from　within。　
　Eventually　he　stopped　in　the　shadow　of　a　rock　monolith　about　a　quarter　of　a　mile　long　and　three　hundred　feet　high。　Weathered　into　eerie　shapes　by　ages　of　wind　and　sun　and　by　the　rare　but　torrential　rains　that　swept　Mojave；　the　formation　thrust　out　of　the　desert　floor　like　the　ruins　of　an　ancient　temple　now　half　buried　in　sand。　
　He　propped　the　Harley　on　its　kickstand。　
　He　sat　down　on　the　shaded　earth。　
　After　a　moment　he　stretched　out　on　his　side。　He　drew　up　his　knees。　
　and　folded　his　arms　across　his　chest。　
　He　had　stopped　not　a　moment　too　soon。　The　darkness　filled　him　pletely　；　and　he　fell　away　into　an　abyss　of　despair。　
　Later；　in　the　last　hour　of　daylight；　he　found　himself　on　the　Harley　again；　riding　across　gray　and　rose…colored　flats　where　clumps　of　mesquite　bristled。　Dead；　sun…blackened　tumbleweed　chased　him　in　a　breeze　that　smelled　of　powdered　iron　and　salt。　
　He　vaguely　remembered　breaking　open　a　cactus　and　sucking　the　moisture　out　of　the　water…heavy　pulp　at　the　core　of　the　plant；　but　he　was　dry　again。　Desperately　thirsty。　
　As　he　came　over　a　gentle　rise　and　throttled　down　a　little；　he　saw　a　small　town　about　two　miles　ahead；　buildings　clustered　along　a　highway。　A　scattering　of　trees　looked　supernaturally　lush　after　the　desolation…physical　end　spiritual…through　which　he　had　traveled　for　the　past　several　hours。　
　Half　convinced　that　the　town　was　only　an　apparition；　he　angled　toward　it　nevertheless。　
　Suddenly；　silhouetted　against　a　sky　that　was　growing　purple　and　red　with　the　onset　of　twilight；　the　spire　of　a　church　appeared；　a　cross　at　its　pinnacle。　Though　he　realized　that　he　was　to　some　extent　delirious　and　that　his　delirium　was　at　least　partly　related　to　serious　dehydration；　Jim　turned　at　once　toward　the　church。　He　felt　as　if　he　needed　the　solace　of　its　interior　spaces　more　than　he　needed　water。　
　Half　a　mile　from　the　town；　he　rode　the　Harley　into　an　arroyo　and　left　it　there　on　its　side。　The　soft　sand　walls　of　the　channel　gave　way　easily　under　his　hands；　and　he　quickly　covered　the　bike。　
　He　had　assumed　he　could　walk　the　last　half　mile　with　relative　ease。　But　he　was　worse　off　than　he　had　realized。　His　vision　swam　in　and　out　of　focus。　
　His　lips　burned；　his　tongue　stuck　to　the　roof　of　his　dry　mouth；　and　his　throat　was　sore…as　if　he　were　in　the　grip　of　a　virulent　fever。　
　The　muscles　in　his　legs　began　to　cramp　and　throb；　and　each　foot　seemed　to　be　encased　in　a　concrete　boot。　
　He　must　have　blacked　out　on　his　feet；　because　the　next　thing　he　knew；　he　was　on　the　brick　steps　of　the　white　clapboard　church；　with　no　recollection　of　the　last　few　hundred　yards　of　his　journey。　The　words　R　LADY　OF　THE　DESERT　Were　On　a　brass　plaque　beside　the　double　doors。　
　He　had　been　a　Catholic　once。　In　a　part　of　his　heart；　he　still　was　Catholic。　He　had　been　many　things…Methodist；　Jew；　Buddhist；　Baptist；　Moslem；　Hindu；　Taoist；　more…and　although　he　was　no　longer　any　them　in　practice；　he　was　still　all　of　them　in　experience。　
　Though　the　door　seemed　to　weigh　more　than　the　boul