gns.snakes-第13部分

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　　'Whilst　the　cat's　away　the　mice　will　play；'　he　laughed。　'I　don't　like　leaving　my　business　interests　in　the　care　of　other　people　longer　than　is　absolutely　necessary。'
　　
　　You　mean　you're　playing　golf　tomorrow；　she　smiled　cynically　to　herself。　She　was　at　last　beginning　to　understand　the　man　she　had　married。　Subtle；　selfish；　and　above　all　ruthless。
　　
　　They　left　the　motorway；　picked　up　a　sign　for　Stainforth。　3　1/2　miles。　Cynthia's　mouth　was　dry；　there　was　a　churning　in　her　stomach　that　was　not　wholly　due　to　carsickness。　If　there　was　one　thing　that　repelled　her　it　was　the　thought　of　snakes。　Ugh！　She　recalled　that　time　when　she　was　five　and　her　parents　had　taken　her　to　the　zoo；　she　had　not　wanted　to　go　into　the　reptile　house　but　she'd　had　no　choice。　Those　snakes；　they　all　looked　the　same；　slimy　and　squirmy；　and　when　one　slithered　up　to　the　glass　of　the　case　she　was　staring　into　she　had　gone　hysterical。　Adults　didn't　understand；　her　mother　had　grabbed　her；　slapped　her　and　told　her　not　to　be　so　stupid。　Stupid？　Even　now　she　sometimes　had　nightmares　about　those　vipers；　waking　up　in　the　middle　of　the　night　in　cold　fear；　certain　that　there　were　cold　slippery　serpents　wriggling　about　in　the　bed。
　　
　　'Home；　sweet　home。'　Peter　slowed；　had　to　take　a　wide　sweep　to　negotiate　their　own　drive　entrance　because　a　shabby　old　caravanette；　hand…painted　in　a　bilious　orange　colour；　was　parked　on　the　verge　by　the　stone　pillars。　Several　more　vehicles　were　lining　the　village　street。　'The　sightseers　have　arrived；　I　see。　Hey；　what's　Doyle　still　doing　here　at　this　time？　He　finishes　at　five。'
　　
　　'Maybe　he　had　a　late　start；'　she　replied　uninterestedly。
　　
　　'And　the　garage　shutters　are　down。'　He　was　annoyed　because　he　wanted　to　drive　straight　into　the　garage。　'As　I　said；　you　can't　leave　other　people　unsupervised　for　long。'
　　
　　The　Jaguar　rolled　to　a　halt　in　front　of　the　garage。　Eversham　felt　an　urge　to　blast　the　horn；　fetch　that　gardener　on　the　run　from　whatever　he　was　doing；　ask　him　what　the　bloody　hell　was　going　on。　Instead；　he　eased　open　the　driver's　door；　began　to　swing　himself　out。　And　that　was　when　he　heard　the　banging　on　the　inside　of　the　garage　door；　the　steel　shutter　vibrating。　Somebody　was　shouting。
　　
　　'Mr　Eversham；　Mr　Eversham；　don　'I　get　out　of　your　car。　There's　a　rattlesnake　on　the　rockery！'
　　
　　Peter　Eversham　froze；　heard　the　words　but　their　meaning　did　not　sink　in。　He　recognised　Keith　Doyle's　voice　but　what　the　blazes　was　the　stupid　bugger　doing　inside　the　garage　with　the　shutter　down？　And　another　thing　。　。　。

　　
　　What　the　fucking　hell　was　wrong　with　the　car？　A　noise　as　though　the　exhaust　had　suddenly　e　loose；　was　banging　and　rattling　on　the　underside。　But　it　couldn't；　the　car　was　stationary。
　　
　　'Peter！'　Cynthia　Eversham　screamed；　panicked；　and　grabbed　her　husband's　arm；　overbalanced　him　back　into　the　seat。
　　
　　'What　the　。　。　。'
　　
　　Even　as　he　fell　he　saw　the　snake；　a　thing　like　a　thick　painted　hosepipe　darting　out　from　beneath　the　Jag；　its　vicious　strike　missing　him　and　pinging　on　the　inside　of　the　open　door。　Cynthia　was　yelling；　shrieking　hysterically；　and　then　the　car　door　obeyed　the　laws　of　gravity；　swung　softly　shut　on　the　slight　incline。　Clicked。
　　
　　'Jesus　God！'
　　
　　'It　was　a　snake；　Peter。　It　tried　to　。　。　。'
　　
　　'For　Christ's　sake；　shut　up；'　he　pushed　her　away；　and　in　the　same　movement　eased　the　handbrake　off；　felt　the　car　begin　to　roll　slowly　backwards。　And　as　it　did　so　the　occupants　heard　something　happening　beneath　them；　that　frantic　rattling　sound　again；　interspersed　with　lashing　noises　as　if　a　horse　whip　was　flaying　mercilessly　on　the　underside　of　the　car。
　　
　　Still　rolling　backwards。　Cynthia　screamed；　clutched　at　her　seat；　saw　that　vile　light…coloured　reptile　with　the　black　diamond　markings　thrashing　frenziedly　on　the　tarmac　in　front　of　them。　It　wriggled；　tried　to　leap；　fell　back；　squirmed　and　convulsed；　turned　its　repulsive　head　towards　them；　as　if　mouthing　insane　reptilian　curses。　But　something　was　wrong　with　it；　even　in　her　state　of　terror　she　saw　its　injury；　the　lower　part　of　its　body　crushed　and　flattened　like　the　hose　that　time　when　Doyle　had　washed　the　car　for　them　and　had　left　it　lying　on　the　drive　and　she　had　backed　over　it。
　　
　　'Oh；　my　God！'　she　was　going　to　be　sick　any　second。　'Peter；　you've　run　over　it！'
　　
　　He　jerked　the　handbrake　back　on；　halted　the　car；　then　started　the　engine；　drove　forward　in　a　wide　sweep　that　took　him　to　the　front　of　the　house　alongside　Doyle's　parked　van。　He　killed　the　engine；　glanced　in　his　mirror。　The　rattler　was　thrashing　fiercely　from　side　to　side；　rattling　and　hissing　its　pain　and　fury　but　it　wasn't　going　anywhere。
　　
　　'Peter；　don't　get　out！'
　　
　　'Stay　where　you　bloody　well　are。'　He　slammed　the　car　door　and　ran　for　the　porch；　fumbling　for　his　key。
　　
　　Breathlessly　he　leapt　up　the　stairs；　on　to　the　landing；　into　the　bedroom。　Fumbling　under　the　bed；　pulling　out　a　dusty　leg…o'…mutton　leather　gun　case；　his　trembling　fingers　scarcely　capable　of　undoing　the　straps。　Metal　clinked　as　he　fitted　barrels　and　stock　together；　slapped　the　wooden　fore…end　into　place　to　hold　them　together；　grabbed　some　orange…cased　12…bore　cartridges　out　of　a　carton　on　top　of　the　wardrobe；　spilling　the　rest　on　to　the　carpet。
　　
　　Back　down　the　stairs；　loading　the　gun　as　he　went；　almost　slipping　on　the　polished　wooden　blocks　of　the　hall　floor。　Outside；　seeing　Cynthia　still　sitting　in　the　car；　hands　pressed　to　her　pallid　face　in　fear　and　anguish；　mouthing　something　at　him。　Shut　up；　you　stupid　bitch。
　　
　　The　diamondback　was　still　very　much　alive。　It　was　throwing　itself　from　side　to　side；　manoeuvring　a　course　towards　the　front　door；　propelling　its　awesome　body　in　spite　of　its　terrible　injuries；　malevolently　rattling　its　hate　for　the　man　who　had　done　this　to　it。　Only　one　thing　was　uppermost　in　its　pain…crazed　mind…to　kill！
　　
　　Peter　Eversham　was　trembling　as　he　lifted　the　shotgun　to　his　shoulder；　a　big…game　hunter　suddenly　faced　with　a　charging　wounded　water　buffalo；　its　life　or　his；　there　would　only　be　one　survivor。　He　had　his　life　in　his　hands。
　　
　　Ten　yards；　maybe　less。　He　tried　to　draw　a　bead　on　the　head　but　it　darted　from　one　side　to　the　other；　dodged　away　from　the　shaking　twin　barrels　as　though　it　knew。　Oh　Christ；　so　different　from　driven　grouse　that　couldn't　fight　back。
　　
　　Five　yards。　He　swung　his　sights　on　to　the　body；　the　lower　damaged　part　that　dragged　behind　the　rest；　took　a　trigger　pressure。　A　deafening　blast；　and　somewhere　in　the　background　he　heard　his　wife　screaming；　saw　the　snake　jerk　and　roll；　seem　to　twist　back　on　itself　as　though　it　was　trying　to　view　the　damage。
　　
　　At　that　range　the　concentrated　shot　charge　was　still　strung　together；　had　cut　through　skin　and　tissue；　almost　severed　the　lower　body。　A　slimy　pulp　streaked　the　tarmac。　And　in　that　split　second　Peter　Eversham　finally　got　his　bead　on　the　head。
　　
　　The　left　barrel；　leaden　death　obliterating　the　rattlesnake's　head；　throwing　it　back　into　the　morass　behind；　its　nerves　twitching。　And　then　it　was　still。
　　
　　It　was　dead。
　　
　　Eversham　lowered　the　smoking　gun；　opened　the　breech　and　the　spent　cartridge　cases　were　ejected；　bounced　on　the　drive。　He　stood　there；　experienced　a　euphoria　that　was　only　just　beginning　to　make　its　heady　impact　on　him。　A　pose　he　was　reluctant　to　relinquish；　the　hunter　looking　down　on　his　trophy；　awaiting　the　arrival　of　his　bearers。
　　
　　The　garage　shutters　slid　upwards　and　Keith　Doyle　emerged；　white…faced。　Eversham　thought　the　gardener　might　spew　up　just　to　plete　the　picture。　Cynthia　still　had　her　face　covered；　look　at　it；　you　two；　look　at　it。　It's　dead　and　I　killed　it。　Me；　Peter　Eversham。　They've　been　hunting　the　bastards　for　two　days　but　they　didn't　do　any　good　until　I　returned。
　　
　　'Well　done；　Mr　Eversham。'　A　cry　of　relief；　the　young　red…haired　man　having　to　hold　on　to　the　car；　swaying　unsteadily　on　his　feet。　'It　trapped　me　in　the　garage。　We　better　get　the　police。'
　　
　　'I　think　this　is　them　now。'　Peter　Eversham　heard　the　bee…boraf　an　approaching　siren；　anticipated　the　white　Escort　turning　into　the　drive。　He　shifted　his　pose　slightly；　cradling　the　gun　beneath　his　arm；　sporting　style。　Take　a　good　look；　you　guys；　I　just　did　what　you've　failed　to　do。　Send　the　press；　let's　get　the　record　straight；　nobody's　stealing　my　thunder。
　　
　　'I　got　him；'　he　told　PC　Aylott　as　the　constable　climbed　out　of　the　car。　'It's　a　rattler；　a　western　diamondback。'　I　know　because　I　once　saw　a　TV　programme　about　them。
　　
　　'He's　dead；　all　right。'　Aylott　approached　the　shot…blasted　mulch　with　some　trepidation。
　　
　　'He　is。'　Peter　Eversham　still　stood　there　holding　his　gun。　Jesus　Christ；　where　were　the　bloody　newshounds？　They　were　quick　enough　off〃　the　mark　when　some　randy　vicar　or　other　ran　off　with　the　verger's　wife；　used　rolls　of　film　and　gave　it　front　page　spread；　but　when　somebody　shoots　a　dangerous　reptile　in　an　English　village　they　don't　want　to　know。
　　
　　There's　two　rattlers。'　The　officer　stepped　back。　'I'd've　thought　being　a　pair　they　would　have　stuck　together。　Search　parties　have　spent　two　days　bing　the