sk.dreamcatcher-第66章

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　　　　'He　and　I　and　our　two　other　friends　…　the　ones　who　are　dead　…　once　knew　someone　who　was　very　different。　A　natural　telepath；　no　byrus　needed。　He　did　something　to　us。　If　we'd　gotten　to　know　him　when　we　were　a　little　older；　I　don't　think　that　would　have　been　possible；　but　we　met　him　when　we　were　particularly　。　。　。　vulnerable；　I　suppose　you'd　say　。　。　。　to　what　he　had。　And　then；　years　later；　something　else　happened　to　Jonesy；　something　that　had　nothing　to　do　with　。　。　。　with　this　remarkable　boy。'
　　　　But　that　wasn't　the　truth；　Henry　suspected；　although　Jonesy　had　been　hit　and　almost　killed　in　Cambridge　find　Duddits　had　never　to　Henry's　knowledge　been　south　of　Derry　in　his　life；　Duds　had　somehow　been　a　part　of　Jonesy's　final；　crucial　change。　A　part　of　that；　too。　He　knew　it。
　　　　'And　I'm　supposed　to　what？　Just　believe　all　this？　Swallow　it　like　cough…syrup？'
　　　　In　the　sweet…smelling　darkness　of　the　shed；　Henry's　lips　spread　in　a　humorless　grin。　'Owen；'　he　said；　'you　do　believe　it。　I'm　a　telepath；　remember？　The　baddest　one　in　the　jungle。　The　question；　though　。　。　。　the　question　is　。　。　。'
　　　　Henry　asked　the　question　with　his　mind。


7

Standing　outside　the　pound　fence　by　the　back　wall　of　the　old　storage　shed；　freezing　his　balls　off；　filter…mask　pulled　down　around　his　neck　so　he　could　smoke　a　series　of　cigarettes　he　did　not　want　（he'd　gotten　a　fresh　pack　in　the　PX）；　Owen　would　have　said　he　never　felt　less　like　laughing　in　his　life　。　。　。　but　when　the　man　in　the　shed　responded　to　his　eminently　reasonable　question　with　such　impatient　directness　…　you　do　believe　it　。　。　。　I'm　a　telepath；　remember？　…　a　laugh　was　surprised　out　of　him；　nevertheless。　Kurtz　had　said　that　if　the　telepathy　became　permanent　and　were　to　spread；　society　as　they　knew　it　would　fall　down。　Owen　had　grasped　the　concept；　but　now　he　understood　it　on　a　gut　level；　too。
　　　　'The　question；　though　。　。　。　the　question　is　。　。　。'
　　　　What　are　we　going　to　do　about　it？
　　　　Tired　as　he　was；　Owen　could　see　only　one　answer　to　that　question。　'We　have　to　go　after　Jones；　I　suppose。　Will　it　do　any　good？　Do　we　have　time？'
　　　　'I　think　we　might。　Just。'
　　　　Owen　tried　to　read　what　was　behind　Henry's　response　with　his　own　lesser　powers　and　could　not。　Yet　he　was　positive　that　most　of　what　the　man　had　told　him　was　true。　Either　that　or　he　believes　it's　true；　Owen　thought。　God　knows　I　want　to　believe　it's　true。　Any　excuse　to　get　out　of　here　before　the　butchery　starts。
　　　　'No；'　Henry　said；　and　for　the　first　time　Owen　thought　he　sounded　upset；　not　entirely　sure　of　himself。　'No　butchery。　Kurtz　isn't　going　to　kill　somewhere　between　two　hundred　and　eight　hundred　people。　People　who　ultimately　can't　influence　this　business　one　way　or　the　other。　They're　just　…　Christ；　they're　just　innocent　bystanders！'
　　　　Owen　wasn't　entirely　surprised　to　find　himself　rather　enjoying　his　new　friend's　disfort；　God　knew　Henry　had　disfited　him。　'What　do　you　suggest？　Bearing　in　mind　that　you　yourself　said　that　only　your　pal　Jonesy　matters。'
　　　　'Yes；　but　。　。　。'
　　　　Floundering。　Henry's　mental　voice　was　a　little　surer；　but　only　a　little。　I　didn't　mean　we'd　walk　away　and　let　them　die。
　　　　'We　won't　be　walking　anywhere；'　Owen　said。　'We'll　be　running　like　a　couple　of　rats　in　a　corncrib。'　He　dropped　his　third　cigarette　after　a　final　token　puff　and　watched　the　wind　carry　it　away。　Beyond　the　shed；　curtains　of　snow　rippled　across　the　empty　corral；　building　up　huge　drifts　against　the　side　of　the　barn。　Trying　to　go　anywhere　in　this　would　be　madness。　It'll　have　to　be　a　Sno…Cat；　at　least　to　start　with；　Owen　thought。　By　midnight；　even　a　four…wheel　drive　might　not　be　much　good。　Not　in　this。
　　　　'Kill　Kurtz；'　Henry　said。　'That's　the　answer。　It'll　make　it　easier　for　us　to　get　away　with　no　one　to　give　orders；　and　it'll　put　the　。　。　。　the　biological　cleansing　on　hold。'
　　　　Owen　laughed　dryly。　'You　make　it　sound　so　easy；'　he　said。　'Double…oh…Underhill；　license　to　kill。'
　　　　He　lit　a　fourth　cigarette；　cupping　his　hands　around　the　lighter　and　the　end　of　the　smoke。　In　spite　of　his　gloves；　his　fingers　were　numb。　We　better　e　to　some　conclusions　pretty　quick；　he　thought。　Before　I　freeze　to　death。
　　　　'What's　the　big　deal　about　it？'　Henry　asked；　but　he　knew　what　the　big　deal　was；　all　right；　Owen　could　sense　（and　half…hear）　him　trying　not　to　see　it；　not　wanting　things　to　be　worse　than　they　already　were。　'Just　walk　in　there　and　pop　him。'
　　　　'Wouldn't　work。'　Owen　sent　Henry　a　brief　image：　Freddy　Johnson　（and　other　members　of　the　so…called　Imperial　Valley　cadre）　keeping　an　eye　on　Kurtz's　Winnebago。　'Also；　he's　got　the　place　wired　for　sound。　If　anything　happens；　the　hard　boys　e　running。　Maybe　I　could　get　him。　Probably　not；　because　he　covers　himself　as　thoroughly　as　any　Colombian　cocaine　jefe；　especially　when　he's　on　active　duty；　but　maybe。　I　like　to　think　I'm　not　bad　myself。　But　it　would　be　a　suicide　mission。　If　he's　recruited　Freddy　Johnson；　then　he's　probably　got　Kate　Gallagher　and　Marvell　Richardson　。　。　。　Carl　Friedman　。　。　。　Jocelyn　McAvoy。　Tough　boys　and　tough　girls；　Henry。　I　kill　Kurtz；　they　kill　me；　the　brass　running　this　show　from　under　Cheyenne　Mountain　send　out　a　new　cleaner；　some　Kurtz　clone　that'll　pick　up　where　Kurtz　left　off。　Or　maybe　they　just　elect　Kate　to　the　job。　God　knows　she's　crazy　enough。　The　people　in　the　barn　might　get　twelve　additional　hours　to　stew　in　their　own　juice；　but　in　the　end　they'll　still　burn。　The　only　difference　is　that；　instead　of　getting　a　chance　to　go　charging　gaily　through　the　snowstorm　with　me；　handsome；　you'll　burn　with　the　rest　of　them。　Your　pal；　meanwhile　…　this　guy　Jonesy　…　he'll　be　off　to　。　。　。　to　where？'
　　　　'That's　something　it　might　be　prudent　for　me　to　keep　to　myself；　for　the　time　being。'
　　　　Owen　nonetheless　probed　for　it　with　such　telepathy　as　he　possessed。　For　a　moment　he　caught　a　blurred　and　perplexing　vision　…　a　tall　white　building　in　the　snow；　cylindrical；　like　a　barn　silo　and　then　it　was　gone；　replaced　by　the　image　of　a　white　horse　that　looked　almost　like　a　unicorn　running　past　a　sign。　On　the　sign　were　red　letters　reading　BANBURY　CROSS　under　a　pointing　arrow。
　　　　He　grunted　in　amusement　and　exasperation。　'You're　jamming　me。'
　　　　'You　can　think　of　it　that　way。　Or　you　can　think　of　it　as　teaching　you　a　technique　you　better　learn　if　you'd　like　to　keep　our　conversation　a　secret。'
　　　　'Uh…huh。'　Owen　wasn't　entirely　displeased　with　what　had　just　happened。　For　one　thing；　a　jamming　technique　would　be　a　very　good　thing　to　have。　For　another；　Henry　did　know　where　his　infected　friend　…　call　him　Typhoid　Jonesy　…　was　going。　Owen　had　seen　a　brief　picture　of　it　in　Henry's　head。
　　　　'Henry；　I　want　you　to　listen　to　me　now。'
　　　　'All　right。'
　　　　'Here's　the　simplest；　safest　thing　we　can　do；　you　and　I。　First；　if　time　isn't　an　utterly　crucial　factor；　we　both　need　to　get　some　sleep。'
　　　　'I　can　buy　that。　I'm　next　door　to　dead。'
　　　　'Then；　around　three　o'clock；　I　can　start　to　move　and　shake。　This　installation　is　going　to　be　on　high　alert　till　the　time　when　there　isn't　an　installation　here　any　longer；　but　if　Big　Brother's　eyeball　ever　glazes　over　a　little；　it's　apt　to　be　between　four　and　six　A。M。　I'll　make　a　diversion；　and　I　can　short　out　the　fence　…　that's　the　easiest　part；　actually。　I　can　be　here　with　a　Sno…Cat　five　minutes　after　the　shit　hits　the　fan…'
　　　　Telepathy　had　certain　shorthand　advantages　to　verbal　munication；　Owen　was　discovering。　He　sent　Henry　the　image　of　a　burning　MH…6　Little　Bird　helicopter　and　soldiers　running　toward　it　even　as　he　continued　to　speak。
　　　　'…and　off　we　go。'
　　　　'Leaving　Kurtz　with　a　barnful　of　innocent　civilians　he　plans　to　turn　into　crispy　critters。　Not　to　mention　Blue　Group。　What's　that；　a　couple…three　hundred　more？'
　　　　Owen；　who　had　been　full…time　military　since　the　age　of　nineteen　and　one　of　Kurtz's　eraserheads　for　the　last　eight　years；　sent　two　hard　words　along　the　mental　conduit　the　two　of　them　had　established：　Acceptable　losses。
　　　　Behind　the　dirty　glass；　the　vague　shape　that　was　Henry　Devlin　stirred；　then　stood。
　　　　No；　he　sent　back。


8

No？　What　do　you　mean；　no？
　　　　No。　That's　what　I　mean。
　　　　Do　you　have　a　better　idea？
　　　　And　Owen　realized；　to　his　extreme　horror；　that　Henry　thought　he　did。　Fragments　of　that　idea　…　it　would　be　far　too　generous　to　call　it　a　plan　…　shot　through　Owen's　mind　like　the　brightly　fragmented　tail　of　a　et。　It　took　his　breath　away。　The　cigarette　dropped　unnoticed　from　between　his　fingers　and　zipped　away　on　the　wind。
　　　　You're　nuts。
　　　　No；　I'm　not。　We　need　a　diversion　in　order　to　get　away；　you　already　know　that。　This　is　a　diversion。
　　　　They'll　be　killed　anyway！
　　　　Some　will。　Maybe　even　most　of　them。　But　it's　a　chance。　What　chance　will　they　have　in　a　burning　barn？
　　　　Out　loud；　Henry　said：　'And　there's　Kurtz。　If　he's　got　a　couple　of　hundred　escapees　to　worry　about　…　most　of　whom　who'd　be　happy　to　tell　the　first　reporters　they　came　across　that　the　panic…stricken　U。S。　government　had　sanctioned　a　My　Lai　massacre　right　here　on　American　soil　…　he's　going　to　be　a　lot　less　concerned　about　us。'
　　　　You　don't　know　Abe　Kurtz；　Owen　thought。　You　don't　know　about　the　Kurtz　Line。　Of　course；　neither　had　he。　Not　really。　Not　until　today。
　　　　Yet　Henry's　proposal　made　a　lunatic　kind　of　sense。　And　it　contained　at　least　a　measure　of　atonement。　As　this　endless　November　fourteenth　marched　toward　midnight　and　as　odds　of　living　until　the　end　of　the　week　grew　longer；　Owen　was　not　surprised　to　find　that　the　idea　of　atonement　had　its　attractions。
　　　　'Henry。'
　　　　'Yes；　Owen。　I'm　here。'
　　　　'I've　always　felt　badly　about　what　I　did　in　the　Rapeloews'　house　that　day。'
　　　　'I　know。'
　　　　'And　yet　I've　done　it　again　and　again。　How　tucked　up　is　that？'　Henry；　an　excellent　psychiatrist　even　after　his　thoughts　had　turned　to　suicide；　said　nothing。　Fucked　up　was　normal　human　behavior。　Sad　but　true。
　　　　'All　right；'　Owen　said　at　last。　'You　can　buy　the　house；　but　I'm　going　to　furnish　it。　Deal？'
　　　　'Deal；'　Henry　replied　at　once。
　　　　'Can　you　really　teach　me　that　jamming　technique？　Because　I　think　I　may　need　it。'
　　　　'I'm　pretty　sure　I　can。'
　　　　'All　right。　Listen。'　Owen　talked　for　the　next　three　minutes；　sometimes　out　loud；　sometimes　mind　to　mind。　The　two　men　had　reached　a　point　where　they　no　longer　differentiated　between　the　modes　of　munication；　thoughts　and　words　had　bee　one。


　　　　
CHAPTER　SIXTEEN

DERRY


1

It's　hot　in　Gosselin's　…　it's　so　hot！　The　sweat　pops　out　on　Jonesy's　face　almost　immediately；　and　by　the　time　the　four　of　them　get　to　the　pay　phone　（which　is　near　the　woodstove；　wouldn't　you　know　it）；　it's　rolling　down　his　cheeks；　and　his　armpits　feel　like　jungle　growth　after　a　heavy　rain　。　。　。　not　that　he　has　all　that　much　growth　there　yet；　not　at　fourteen。　Don't　you　wish；　as　Pete　likes　to　say。
　　　　So　it's　hot；　and　he's　still　partly　in　the　grip　of　the　dream；　which　hasn't　faded　the　way　bad　dreams　usually　do　（he　can　still　smell　gasoline　and　burning　rubber；　can　still　see　Henry　holding　that　moccasin　。　。　。　and　the　head；　he　can　still　see　Richie　Grenadeau's　awful　severed　head）；　and　then　the　operator　makes　things　worse　by　being　a　bitch。　When　Jonesy　gives　her　the　Cavells'　number；　which　they　call　frequently　to　ask　if　they　can　e　over　（Roberta　and　Alfie　always　say　yes；　but　it　is　only　polite　to　ask　permission；　they　have　all　been　taught　that　a