p&c.thunderhead-第66章

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　〃Twenty　minutes　after　you　came　down　from　the　rim；　that　flash　flood　hit；〃　Nora　broke　in。　〃The　entire　Kaiparowits　drains　through　this　canyon。　There　was　a　gigantic　thunderhead　over　the　plateau；　there　had　to　be。　And　you　saw　it。〃　
　〃The　weather　report　out　of　Page　is　a　matter　of　public　record。　You　can　check　it　when　we　get　back　。　。　。〃　
　But　as　she　listened；　an　image　came　unbidden　to　Nora's　mind：　Aragon；　the　flood　shredding　him　to　pieces　as　it　pulled　him　along　the　pitiless　walls　of　the　slot　canyon。　
　She　shook　her　head。　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃I　don't　think　I'll　do　that。　I　think　I'll　check　the　satellite　images　instead。　And　I　know　what　I'll　find：　a　monstrous　storm；　centered　directly　over　the　Kaiparowits　Plateau。〃　
　At　this；　Sloane's　face　went　dead　white。　Beads　of　rain　were　collecting　on　her　wide　cheekbones。　〃Nora；　listen。　It's　possible　I　never　looked　in　that　direction。　You've　got　to　believe　me。〃　
　〃Where's　Black？〃　Nora　asked　suddenly。　
　Sloane　stopped；　surprised　by　the　question。　〃Up　in　the　city；〃　she　said。　
　〃What　do　you　think　he'll　say　when　I　confront　him？　He　was　up　on　top　of　that　ridge　with　you。〃　
　Sloane's　eyebrows　contracted。　〃He's　not　well；　and…〃　
　〃And　Aragon　is　dead；〃　Nora　interrupted；　speaking　in　a　barely　controlled　fury。　〃Sloane；　you　were　going　to　break　into　that　kiva；　no　matter　what　the　cost。　And　that　cost　was　murder。〃　
　The　ugly　word　hung　in　the　heavy　air。　
　〃You're　going　to　prison；　Sloane；〃　Nora　said。　〃And　you'll　never　work　in　this　field　again。　I'm　going　to　make　sure　of　that　personally。〃　
　As　Nora　stared　at　Sloane；　she　saw　the　shock；　the　confusion；　in　her　eyes　start　to　turn　to　something　else。　
　〃You　can't　do　that；　Nora；〃　Sloane　replied。　〃You　can't。〃　Her　voice　was　suddenly　low；　urgent。　
　〃Watch　me。〃　
　There　was　a　flash　of　jagged　lightning；　followed　almost　instantly　by　a　great　peal　of　thunder。　In　that　instant；　Nora　glanced　downward；　shielding　her　eyes。　As　she　did；　she　saw　the　dull　glint　of　the　gunmetal　tucked　into　Sloane's　belt。　Looking　up　quickly　again；　she　saw　Sloane　watching　her。　The　woman　seemed　to　straighten　up；　draw　a　sudden　breath。　Her　jaw　set。　In　a　face　full　of　lingering　surprise；　Nora　thought　she　saw　a　resolution　begin　to　form。　
　〃No；〃　she　murmured。　
　Sloane　looked　back　at　her；　unblinking。　
　〃No；〃　Nora　repeated；　more　loudly；　backing　up　into　the　darkness。　
　Slowly；　tentatively；　Sloane's　hand　dropped　toward　the　gun。　
　In　a　sudden；　desperate　movement；　Nora　snapped　off　her　light　and　wheeled　away；　sprinting　into　the　close；　concealing　darkness。　
　The　camp　lay　a　hundred　yards　off…no　protection　there。　Sloane　stood　between　her　and　the　city。　And　the　flood　had　cut　her　off　from　the　other　side　of　the　valley。　In　the　direction　she　was　headed；　that　left　only　one　option。　
　Her　mind　worked　furiously　as　she　ran。　Sloane；　she　realized；　was　not　the　kind　of　person　who　could　bear　to　lose。　If　she　had　refused　to　even　leave　Quivira　without　opening　the　kiva；　was　it　possible　she　would　allow　Nora　to　take　her　back　to　civilization…in　shame　and　humiliation…to　face　life　in　ruin？　Why　did　I　provoke　her　like　that？　Nora　raged　at　herself。　How　could　I　have　been　so　stupid？　She　herself　had　demonstrated　to　Sloane　exactly　how　stark　her　choice　was。　Nora；　effectively；　had　signed　her　own　death　warrant。　
　She　dashed　as　quickly　as　she　dared　along　the　rocky　base　of　the　cliff；　making　for　the　landslide　at　the　far　end。　Fitful　tongues　of　lightning　guided　her　way。　Scrambling　up　the　talus　of　broken　boulders；　she　searched　for　a　hiding　place；　not　daring　to　use　her　flashlight　for　fear　of　betraying　her　position。　Halfway　up　the　slope　she　found　a　suitable　hole：　narrow；　but　still　large　enough　to　fit　a　human　body。　She　wedged　herself　as　far　inside　as　she　could　and　crouched　in　the　darkness；　gasping　for　breath；　trying　to　sort　things　out；　raging　with　frustration　and　despair。　
　She　glanced　around　her　hiding　place。　She　had　managed　to　crawl　fairly　deeply　into　the　landslide。　Still；　it　was　only　a　temporary　option：　it　would　only　be　a　matter　of　time　before　Sloane　searched　her　out。　And　Sloane　had　the　spare　gun。　
　Her　thoughts　returned　to　Smithback；　lying　asleep　in　the　medical　tent；　and　her　hands　clenched　in　anger。　He　was　a　sitting　duck。　But　no：　there　was　no　reason　for　Sloane　to　enter　the　tent　and　find　him。　Even　if　she　did；　there　was　a　chance　she　would　not　kill　him。　Nora　had　to　cling　to　that　hope…at　least；　until　she　found　some　way　to　stop　Sloane。　
　There　had　to　be　a　way。　Bonarotti　and　Swire　were　out　there；　somewhere。　Unless　they　were　part　of　the　conspiracy；　too　。　。　。　she　shook　her　head；　refusing　to　let　herself　follow　that　line　of　speculation。　
　Perhaps　she　could　find　a　way　to　sneak　back　into　the　camp；　steal　away　with　Smithback。　But　that　would　mean　hours　of　cautious　waiting；　and　one　way　or　another　Sloane　would　certainly　act　before　then。　Nora　knew　she　couldn't　climb　up　to　the　rim　and　escape…not　with　Smithback　behind；　injured；　in　the　valley。　As　she　crouched　in　the　darkness　and　turned　over　her　options；　it　dawned　on　her；　with　a　desperate　kind　of　finality；　that　in　fact　there　were　no　options　at　all。　
　
　
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　BEIYOODZIN　MADE　HIS　WAY　ACROSS　THE　slickrock　plateau；　far　above　the　valley　of　Quivira。　The　heart　of　a　second；　smaller　storm　was　passing　overhead　now；　and　it　was　very　dark。　Beneath　his　feet；　the　irregular　rock　was　slick　with　rainwater；　and　Beiyoodzin　walked　with　great　care。　His　old　feet　ached；　and　he　missed　the　presence　of　his　horse；　tethered　back　in　the　valley　of　Chilbah。　The　Priest's　Trail　was　impassable　for　all　but　the　two…legged。　
　The　trail　markings　were　irregular　and　vague…a　small；　ancient　cairn　of　rocks　here　and　there…and　the　way　was　difficult　to　make　out　in　the　darkness。　Beiyoodzin　needed　all　his　skill　simply　to　follow　it。　His　eyes　were　not　as　strong　as　they　had　once　been。　And　he　was　all　too　aware　that　the　single　most　difficult　stretch　lay　ahead：　in　the　tortuous；　dangerous　descent　along　the　ridge　of　the　narrow　slot　canyon　at　the　far　end　of　the　valley。　
　He　wrapped　the　sopping　cloak　tighter　and　moved　on。　Though　his　grandfather　had　hinted　of　it；　Beiyoodzin　had　never　believed　that　the　Priest's　Trail　could　be　so　demanding；　or　so　long。　After　arrowing　up　the　secret　cut　in　Chilbah　Valley；　it　followed　a　long；　plex　route　across　the　high　plateau；　wriggling　for　miles　through　the　stunted　junipers；　in　and　out　of　dry　washes　and　steep　little　ravines。　He　urged　his　tired　body　to　move　faster。　It　was　late；　he　knew；　perhaps　too　late。　There　was　no　telling　what　might　have　happened；　or　what　might　be　happening；　in　the　valley　of　Quivira。　
　Suddenly；　he　stopped　short。　There　was　a　smell　in　the　air：　a　lingering　smell　of　woodsmoke；　damp　ash；　and　something　else　that　brought　his　heart　into　his　mouth。　He　looked　around；　eyes　wide　to　the　darkness；　letting　the　occasional　tongues　of　lightning　guide　his　way。　There　it　was…in　the　shadow　of　a　large　rock；　as　he　knew　it　would　be…the　remains　of　a　small　twig　fire。　
　He　looked　around　quickly；　carefully；　making　sure　he　was　alone；　making　sure　the　creatures　who　had　made　this　fire　were　long　gone。　Then　he　crouched；　sifting　the　ash　with　his　fingers。　He　pulled　the　remains　of　root　strips；　burned　and　brittle；　from　the　small　pile；　rubbing　them　appraisingly　between　his　fingers。　Then；　brow　furrowing；　he　began　to　sift　more　quickly；　fingertips　impatiently　brushing　the　ash　aside。　One　hand　closed　on　something；　and　he　drew　in　his　breath　sharply：　the　petal　of　a　flower；　limp　and　withered。　He　brought　it　to　his　nose。　The　scent　confirmed　his　worst　fears：　beneath　the　heavy　smell　of　woodsmoke；　he　could　still　make　out　the　lingering　odor　of　morning　glories。　
　He　stood　up；　brushing　his　fingers　on　his　wet　trousers　in　agitation。　Once；　as　a　child　in　the　village　of　Nankoweap；　he　had　seen　a　terrible　thing：　a　very　old　man；　a　bad　man；　partake　of　the　forbidden　datura　flower。　The　man　had　flown　into　a　rage　under　the　influence　of　the　drug；　lashing　out　violently　at　all　in　his　path　with　several　times　his　normal　strength。　It　had　taken　half　a　dozen　young　men　of　the　village　to　subdue　him。　
　But　this　was　worse。　Much　worse。　Those　he　was　tracking　had　taken　datura　in　the　ancient　way；　the　evil　way；　mixing　it　with　psilocybin　mushrooms；　buttons　of　the　mescal　cactus；　forbidden　insects。　The　unholy　spirit　would　take　possession　of　them；　bring　great　strength　to　their　limbs　and　a　murderous　frenzy　to　their　minds；　make　them　oblivious　to　their　own　pain；　or　the　pain　of　others。　
　Kneeling；　he　said　a　brief；　fervent　prayer　in　the　darkness。　Then　he　rose　again　and　continued　down　the　trail　with　redoubled　speed。　
　
　
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　BONAROTTI　SAT　LISTLESSLY　ON　THE　SMOOTH　rocky　ground　of　the　Planetarium；　his　back　against　the　unyielding　wall；　elbows　resting　on　upraised　knees。　He　stared　out　into　the　darkness；　beyond　the　curving　shelf　that　hid　the　great　city。　The　valley　was　dark；　lit　infrequently　by　livid　forks　of　lightning。　A　thin　curtain　of　water　fell　across　the　entire　length　of　the　overhanging　lip　of　rock；　cloaking　the　entrance　to　Quivira。　There　was　no　longer　any　reason　to　leave　the　fort　of　the　dry　city。　In　fact；　there　was　no　reason　to　do　anything；　except　wait　out　the　next　several　days　with　as　much　fort　and　as　little　inconvenience　as　possible。　
　He　knew　that　he　should　feel　vastly　more　disappointment　than　he　did。　Initially…during　the　first　minutes　of　his　realization　that　the　secret　kiva　held；　not　gold；　but　merely　countless　ancient　pots…the　feeling　of　dismay　and　shock　had；　in　fact；　been　overwhelming。　And　yet　now；　here　on　the　outskirts　of　the　city；　all　he　felt　was　a　vast　ache　in　his　bones。　The　gold　would　not　have　been　his；　anyway。　He　wondered　why　he　had　worked　so　hard；　gotten　so　uncharacteristically　caught　up　in　the　excitement　of　the　moment。　Now　his　only　reward　were　limbs　that　felt　unnaturally　heavy。　The　butt　of　the　big　revolver　dug　into　his　right　side。　Minutes　before；　he　thought　he　had　heard　the　quick　patter　of　feet　running　across　the　central　plaza；　followed　by　an　angry　buzz　of　conversation　in　the　valley　below。　But　he　had　not　been　certain；　over　the　annoyingly　steady　burble　of　rain。　His　ears　felt　clogged　and　painful；　perhaps　he　had　imagined　the　sounds。　And　he　felt　little　interest　in　exploring　further。　
　With　great　effort；　he　dug　into　his　breast　pocket　for　a　cigarette；　then　sounded　his　trousers　for　a　match。　He　knew　that　smoking　was　forbidden　in　the　ruin；　but　at　the　moment　he　could　not　have　cared　less；　besides；　he　somehow　felt　that　Sloane　would　be　more　tolerant　of　such　things　than　Nora　Kelly　had　been。　Smoking　was　about　the　only　fort　he　had　left　in　this　godforsaken　place。　That；　and　the　secret　cache　of　grappa　he　had　secreted　deep　among　his　cookware。　
　But　the　cigarette　proved　no　fort。　It　tasted　terrible；　in　fact：　like　cardboard　and　old　socks。　He　took　it　out　and　peered　at　it　closely；　using　the　fiery　tip　for　illumination。　Then　he　inserted　it　once　again　between　his　lips。　Each　fresh　inhalation　of　smoke　brought　stabbing　pains　to　his　lungs。　With　a　cough；　he　pinched　it　out　with　his　fingers　and　dropped　it　into　his　pocket。　
　Something　told　Bonarotti　that　the　fault　did　not　lie　with　the　cigarette。　He　thought　briefly　about　Holroyd；　and　how　he　had　looked；　in　those　agonizing　minutes　before　he　died。　The　thought　sent　a　galvanic　twitch　to　his　limbs；　and　he　rose　instinctively　to　his　feet。　But　the　sudden　motion　drained　the　blood　from　his　head；　his　body　grew　hot；　and　a　strange　low　roaring　sounded　in　his　ears。　He　put