sk.dreamcatcher-第34章

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ng　had。　She'd　crawled　halfway　around　the　fire　and　died。　The　crusting　of　snow　around　her　waist　and　hips　had　gone　a　dark　red。
　　　　Pete　stopped　for　a　moment；　up　on　his　aching　arms　and　peering　at　her；　but　his　interest　in　her；　dead　or　alive；　was　not　much　more　than　the　passing　interest　he'd　felt　in　his　back…turning　watch。　What　he　wanted　to　do　was　get　some　wood　on　the　fire　and　get　warm。　He　would　consider　the　problem　of　the　woman　later。　Next　month；　maybe；　when　he　was　sitting　in　his　own　living　room　with　a　cast　on　his　knee　and　a　cup　of　hot　coffee　in　his　hand。
　　　　He　finally　made　it　to　the　wood。　Only　four　pieces　were　left；　but　they　were　big　pieces。　Henry　might　be　back　before　they　burned　down；　and　Henry　would　pick　up　some　more　before　going　on　to　get　help。　Good　old　Henry。　Still　wearing　his　dorky　horn…rims；　even　in　this　age　of　soft　contacts　and　laser　surgery；　but　you　could　count　on　him。
　　　　Pete's　mind　tried　to　return　to　the　Scout；　crawling　into　the　Scout　and　smelling　the　cologne　Henry　had　not；　in　fact；　been　wearing；　and　he　wouldn't　let　it。　Let's　not　go　there；　as　the　kids　said。　As　if　memory　was　a　destination。　No　more　ghost…cologne；　no　more　memories　of　Duddits。　No　more　no　bounce；　no　more　no　play。　He　had　enough　on　his　plate　already。
　　　　He　threw　the　wood　onto　the　fire　one　branch　at　a　time；　sidearming　the　pieces　awkwardly；　wincing　at　the　pain　in　his　knee　but　enjoying　the　way　the　sparks　rose　in　a　cloud；　whirling　beneath　the　lean…to's　canted　tin　ceiling　like　crazy　fireflies　before　winking　out。
　　　　Henry　would　be　back　soon。　That　was　the　thing　to　hold　onto。　Just　watch　the　fire　blaze　up　and　hold　that　thought。
　　　　No；　he　won't。　Because　things　have　gone　wrong　back　at　Hole　in　the　Wall。　Something　to　do　with…
　　　　'Rick；'　he　said；　watching　the　flames　taste　the　new　wood。　Soon　they　would　feed　and　grow　tall。
　　　　He　stripped　off　his　gloves；　using　his　teeth；　and　held　his　hands　up　to　the　warmth　of　the　fire。　The　cut　on　the　pad　of　his　right　hand；　where　the　busted　bottle　had　gotten　him；　was　long　and　deep。　Was　going　to　leave　a　scar；　but　so　what？　What　was　a　scar　or　two　between　friends？　And　they　were　friends；　weren't　they？　Yeah。　The　old　Kansas　Street　Gang；　the　Crimson　Pirates　with　their　plastic　swords　and　battery…powered　Star　Wars　ray…guns。　Once　they　had　done　something　heroic　…　twice；　if　you　counted　the　Rinkenhauer　girl。　They　had　even　gotten　their　pictures　in　the　paper　that　time；　and　so　what　if　he　had　a　few　scars？　And　so　what　if　they　had　once　maybe　…just　maybe　…　killed　a　guy？　Because　if　ever　there　was　a　guy　who　deserved　killing…
　　　　But　he　wasn't　going　to　go　there；　either。　No　way；　baby。
　　　　He　saw　the　line；　though。　Like　it　or　not；　he　saw　the　line；　more　clearly　than　he'd　seen　it　in　years。　Primarily　he　saw　Beaver　。　。　。　and　heard　him；　too。　Right　in　the　center　of　his　head。
　　　　Jonesy？　You　there；　man？
　　　　'Don't　get　up；　Beav；'　Pete　said；　watching　the　flames　crackle　and　climb。　The　fire　was　hot　now；　beating　warmth　against　his　face；　making　him　feel　sleepy。　'You　stay　right　where　you　are。　Just　。　。　。　you　know；　just　sit　tight。'
　　　　What；　exactly；　was　all　this　about？　What's　all　this　jobba…nobba？　as　the　Beav　himself　had　sometimes　said　when　they　were　kids；　a　phrase　that　meant　nothing　but　still　cracked　them　up。　Pete　sensed　he　could　know　if　he　wanted　to；　the　line　was　that　bright。　He　got　a　glimpse　of　blue　tiles；　a　filmy　blue　shower　curtain；　a　bright　orange　cap　…　Rick's　cap；　McCarthy's　cap；　old　Mr　I…Stand…at…the…Door's　cap　…　and　sensed　he　could　have　all　the　rest　if　he　wanted　it。　He　didn't　know　if　this　was　the　future；　the　past；　or　what　was　happening　right　this　minute；　but　he　could　have　it　if　he　wanted　it；　if　he…
　　　　'I　don't；'　he　said；　and　pushed　the　whole　thing　away。
　　　　There　were　a　few　sticks　and　twigs　left　on　the　ground。　Pete　fed　them　to　the　fire；　then　looked　at　the　woman。　Her　open　eye　had　no　menace　in　it　now。　It　was　dusty；　the　way　a　deer's　eyes　got　dusty　after　you　shot　it。　All　that　blood　around　her　。　。　。　he　supposed　she'd　hemorrhaged。　Something　inside　had　gone　bust。　Hell　of　a　tough　break。　He　supposed　maybe　she'd　known　it　was　ing　and　had　sat　down　in　the　road　because　she　wanted　to　be　sure　of　being　seen　if　someone　came　along。　Someone　had；　but　look　how　it　had　turned　out。　Poor　bitch。　Poor　unlucky　bitch。
　　　　Pete　shifted　to　the　left；　slowly；　until　he　could　snag　the　tarp；　then　began　to　move　forward　again。　It　had　been　her　makeshift　sled；　now　it　could　be　her　makeshift　shroud。　'I'm　sorry；'　he　said。　'Becky　or　whatever　your　name　is；　I'm　really　sorry。　But　I　couldn't　have　helped　you　by　staying；　you　know；　I'm　not　a　doctor；　I'm　a　fucking　car　salesman。　You　were…'
　　　　…fucked　from　the　start　was　how　he'd　meant　to　finish；　but　the　words　dried　up　in　his　throat　as　he　saw　the　back　of　her。　That　part　hadn't　been　visible　until　he　got　close；　because　she　had　died　facing　the　fire。　The　seat　of　her　jeans　was　blown　out；　as　if　she'd　finally　finished　farting　fumes　and　had　gotten　down　to　the　dynamite。　Tom　rags　of　denim　fluttered　in　the　breeze。　Also　fluttering　were　fragments　of　the　garments　she　had　been　wearing　beneath；　at　least　two　pairs　of　longjohns　…　one　heavy　white　cotton；　the　other　pink　silk。　And　something　was　growing　on　both　the　legs　of　the　jeans　and　the　back　of　her　parka。　It　looked　like　mildew　or　some　kind　of　fungus。　Red…gold；　or　maybe　that　was　just　reflected　firelight。
　　　　Something　had　e　out　of　her。　Something…
　　　　Yes。　Something。　And　it's　watching　me　right　now。
　　　　Pete　looked　into　the　woods。　Nothing。　The　flood　of　animals　had　dried　up。　He　was　alone。
　　　　Except　I'm　not。
　　　　No；　he　wasn't。　Something　was　out　there；　something　that　didn't　do　well　in　the　cold；　something　that　preferred　warm；　wet　places。　Except…
　　　　Except　it　got　too　big。　And　it　ran　out　of　food。
　　　　'Are　you　out　there？'
　　　　Pete　thought　that　calling　out　like　that　would　make　him　feel　foolish；　but　it　didn't。　What　it　made　him　feel　was　more　frightened　than　ever。
　　　　His　eye　fastened　on　a　sketchy　track　of　that　mildewy　stuff。　It　stretched　away　from　Becky　…　yeah；　she　was　a　Becky；　all　right；　as　Becky　as　Becky　could　be　…　and　around　the　er　of　the　lean…to。　A　moment　later　Pete　heard　a　scaly　scraping　sound　as　something　slithered　on　the　tin　roof　He　craned　up；　following　the　sound　with　his　eyes。
　　　　'Go　away；'　he　whispered。　'Go　away　and　leave　me　alone。　I　。　。　。　I'm　fucked　up。'
　　　　There　was　another　brief　slither　as　the　thing　moved　farther　up　the　tin。　Yes；　he　was　fucked　up。　Unfortunately；　he　was　also　food。　The　thing　up　there　slithered　again。　Pete　didn't　think　it　would　wait　long；　maybe　couldn't　wait　long；　not　up　there；　it　would　be　like　a　gecko　in　a　refrigerator。　What　it　was　going　to　do　was　drop　on　him。　And　now　he　realized　a　terrible　thing：　he　had　gotten　so　fixated　on　the　beer　that　he　had　forgotten　the　fucking　guns。
　　　　His　first　impulse　was　to　crawl　deeper　into　the　lean…to；　but　that　might　be　a　mistake；　like　running　into　a　blind　alley。　He　grabbed　the　jutting　end　of　one　of　the　fresh　branches　he'd　just　put　on　the　fire　instead。　He　didn't　take　it　out；　not　yet；　just　made　a　loose　fist　around　it。　The　other　end　was　burning　briskly。　'e　on；'　he　said　to　the　tin　roof　'　You　like　it　hot？　I've　got　something　hot　for　you。　e　on　and　get　it。　Yum…fuckin…yum。'
　　　　Nothing。　Not　from　the　roof；　anyway。　There　was　a　soft　flump　of　snow　falling　from　one　of　the　pines　behind　him　as　the　lower　branches　shed　their　burden。　Pete's　hand　tightened　on　his　makeshift　torch；　half…lifting　it　from　the　fire。　Then　he　let　it　settle　back　in　a　little　swirl　of　sparks。　'e　on；　motherfucker。　I'm　hot；　I'm　tasty；　and　I'm　waiting。'　Nothing。　But　it　was　up　there。　It　couldn't　wait　long；　he　was　sure　of　it。　Soon　it　would　e。


3

Time　passed。　Pete　wasn't　sure　how　much；　his　watch　had　given　up　entirely。　Sometimes　his　thoughts　seemed　to　intensify；　as　they　sometimes　had　when　he　and　the　others　were　hanging　with　Duddits　　（although　as　they　grew　older　and　Duddits　stayed　the　same；　there　had　been　less　of　that　…　it　was　as　though　their　changing　brains　and　bodies　had　lost　the　knack　of　picking　up　Duddits's　strange　signals）。　This　was　like　that；　but　not　exactly　like　that。　Something　new；　maybe。　Maybe　even　something　to　do　with　the　lights　in　the　sky。　He　was　aware　that　Beaver　was　dead　and　that　something　terrible　might　have　happened　to　Jonesy；　but　he　didn't　know　what。
　　　　Whatever　had　happened；　Pete　thought　Henry　knew　about　it；　too；　although　not　clearly；　Henry　was　deep　inside　his　own　head　and　he　thought　Banbury　Cross；　Banbury　Cross；　ride　a　cock　horse　to　Banbury　Cross。
　　　　The　stick　burned　down　further；　closer　to　his　hand；　and　Pete　wondered　what　he'd　do　if　it　burned　down　too　far　to　be　of　use；　if　the　thing　up　there　could　outwait　him　after　all。　And　then　a　new　thought　came　to　him；　bright　as　day　and　red　with　panic。　It　filled　his　head　and　he　began　to　cry　it　aloud；　masking　the　sound　of　the　thing　on　the　roof　as　it　slithered　quickly　down　the　slope　of　the　tin。
　　　　'Please　don't　hurt　us！　Ne　nous　blessez　pas！'
　　　　But　they　would；　they　would；　because　。　。　。　what？
　　　　Because　they　are　not　helpless　little　ETs；　boys；　waiting　around　for　someone　to　give　them　a　New　England　Tel　phone　card　so　they　can　phone　home；　they　are　a　disease。　They　are　cancer；　praise　Jesus；　and　boys；　we're　one　big　hot　radioactive　shot　of　chemotherapy。　Do　you　hear　me；　boys？
　　　　Pete　didn't　know　if　they　did；　the　boys　to　whom　the　voice　spoke；　but　he　did。　They　were　ing；　the　boys　were　ing；　the　Crimson　Pirates　were　ing　and　not　all　the　begging　in　the　world　would　stop　them。　And　still　they　begged；　and　Pete　begged　with　them。
　　　　'Please　don't　hurt　us！　Please！　S'il　vous　pla？t！　Ne　nous　blessez　pas！　Ne　nous　faites　pas　mal　nous　sommes　sans　défense！　'Weeping　now。　'Please！　For　the　love　of　God；　we're　helpless！'
　　　　In　his　mind　he　saw　the　hand；　the　dog…turd；　the　weeping　nearly　naked　boy。　And　all　the　time　the　thing　on　the　roof　was　slithering；　dying　but　not　helpless；　stupid　but　not　entirely　stupid；　getting　behind　Pete　while　he　screamed；　while　he　lay　on　his　side　by　the　dead　woman；　listening　as　some　apocalyptic　slaughter　began。
　　　　Cancer；　said　the　man　with　the　white　eyelashes。
　　　　'Please！'　he　screamed。　'Please；　we're　helpless！'
　　　　But；　lie　or　the　truth；　it　was　too　late。


4

The　snowmobile　had　passed　Henry's　hiding　place　without　slowing；　and　the　sound　of　it　was　now　receding　to　the　west。　It　was　safe　to　e　out；　but　Henry　didn't　e　out。　Couldn't　e　out。　The　intelligence　which　had　replaced　Jonesy　hadn't　sensed　him；　either　because　it　was　distracted　or　because　Jonesy　had　somehow　…　might　somehow　still　be
　　　　But　no。　The　idea　that　there　could　be　any　of　Jonesy　left　inside　that　terrible　cloud　was　so　much　dreamwork。
　　　　And　now　that　the　thing　was　gone　…　receding；　at　least　there　were　the　voices。　They　filled　Henry's　head；　making　him　feel　half…mad　with　their　babble；　as　Duddits's　crying　had　always　made　him　feel　half…mad；　at　least　until　puberty　had　ended　most　of　that　crap。　One　of　the　voices　belonged　to　a　man　who　said　something　about　a　fungus
　　　　（dies　easily　unless　it　gets　on　a　living　host）
　　　　and　then　something　about　a　New　England　Tel　phone　card　and　。　。　。　chemotherapy？　Yes；　a　big　hot　radioactive　shot。　It　was　the　voice；　Henry　thought；　of　a　lunatic。　He　had　treated　enough　of　them　to　judge；　God　knew。
　　　　The　other　voices　were　the　ones　which　made　him　question　his　own　sanity。　He　didn't　know　all　of　them；　but　he　knew　some：　Walter　Cronkite；　Bugs　Bunny；　Jack　Webb；　Jimmy　Carter；　a　woman　he　thought　was　Margare