gns.snakes-第4部分

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vable　rate　of　knots。　Now　he　heard　the　thunder　again；　resonant　rolls　like　an　angry　monster　roaring　its　wrath　as　it　tried　to　run　him　down。
　　
　　The　sudden　daytime　gloom　had　him　thinking　about　his　reptilian　passengers　in　the　back　again。　Man　was　a　daytime　creature；　scared　of　the　dark　no　matter　how　he　tried　to　tell　himself　he　wasn't。　Probably　the　snakes　were　all　asleep。　It　was　bloody　cruel　imprisoning　them　in　zoos。　Just　done　to　make　money。　Taken　out　of　their　natural　environment　they　slept　and　ate　their　lives　away　in　sheer　boredom。　You　couldn't　blame　them　if　they　got　nasty　and　turned　on　somebody。　Man　was　the　cruellest　creature　of　all；　there　was　no　getting　away　from　that。　Christ；　Ken　thought；　I'm　going　bloody　soft。
　　
　　He　found　himself　listening　again　but　all　he　heard　was　engine　noise。　If　the　buggers　did　manage　to　escape　they　couldn't　go　anywhere。　It　was　the　guys　the　other　end　who　would　find　them　whilst　he　was　somewhere　safe　having　a　bite　to　eat。　He'd　keep　well　clear　of　the　van　until　it　was　empty。
　　
　　The　rain　came　without　warning；　a　few　heavy　spots　followed　by　an　instant　downpour；　the　wipers　struggling　to　cope。　Ken　Wilson　cursed　under　his　breath；　the　most　depressing　sound　of　all　was　that　of　the　monotonous　noise　of　windscreen　wipers。　Fuck　it！
　　
　　Rain　was　bouncing　up　off　the　tarmac；　being　whipped　into　a　blinding　spray　by　the　tyres　of　speeding　traffic；　obliterating　from　view　the　vehicles　up　ahead。　The　cars　and　lorries　did　not　seem　to　be　slowing　any　and　those　idiot　children　in　the　Clubman　were　still　slinging　punches　at　each　other。　One　had　found　a　tennis　racket　somewhere　and　was　attempting　to　brain　the　other；　battering　him　viciously　with　it。
　　
　　Ken　glanced　at　his　watch。　5。45。　Night　had　e　about　four　hours　early；　there　was　driving　rain　and　a　lashing　gale　that　was　bending　newly　planted　birch　saplings　on　the　embankments　almost　double。　Another　police　car　passed；　doing　a　ton　for　sure。　One　law　for　some；　another　for　others。
　　
　　And　then　it　happened！　Ken　did　not　know　whether　the　Clubman　estate　had　failed　to　see　the　brake　lights　of　the　Ford　Transit　in　front　or　whether　he　had　simply　driven　into　its　back；　distracted　by　those　bastards　of　fighting　kids。　Suddenly　the　Clubman　crunched；　reared　like　a　frisky　filly；　momentarily　upright　on　its　rear　wheels。　AH　in　an　instant　before　he　hit　it；　the　roof　buckled；　split　and　the　glass　showered　out　of　the　windows　spilling　those　children　with　it。
　　
　　He　saw　them　for　a　split　second　and　braked　hard；　but　knew　he　could　not　miss　them。　One　was　still　clutching　the　racket；　swinging　it；　the　other's　face　a　mass　of　scarlet　pulp；　a　broken　rag　doll　bouncing　on　the　hard　surface。　Disappearing。
　　
　　Please　God！　He　felt　the　front　tyre　crushing　the　infant　body；　saw　in　his　mind　the　squashed　form　like　those　hedgehogs　you　saw　flattened　on　the　roads　every　morning。　The　crunching　of　frail　bones；　instant　death。　The　other　child　was　still　airborne　when　he　hit　it；　saw　it　flatten　on　the　windscreen　without　breaking　the　glass；　a　gnat　caught　by　a　speeding　vehicle。　The　wipers　would　knock　it　off　in　a　second；　they　were　buffeting　it；　bouncing　back　off；　swiping　it　again　with　mechanical　determination。
　　
　　Then　Ken　Wilson's　van　ploughed　into　the　wreckage　of　the　Clubman　and　the　Transit；　and　seconds　later　came　a　shuddering　jolt　as　he　was　hit　from　behind。　He　screamed　aloud；　gave　up　trying　to　do　anything　positive。　The　windscreen　shattered　and　that　bloody　mulch　disintegrated；　some　of　it　splattering　the　interior　of　the　cab。
　　
　　And　in　that　same　second　his　own　van　appeared　to　concertina；　the　rear　of　the　vehicle　crushing　and　ing　forward；　his　seat　and　harness　ripped　from　their　moorings。　He　was　catapulted；　blinding　pain　as　the　steering　column　shattered　his　chest；　threw　him　back　and　then　bounced　him　down　on　to　the　floor　of　the　cab。
　　
　　Dazed；　screaming；　tasting　his　own　blood；　he　lay　there　in　the　semi…darkness。　He　heard　the　squeal　of　tortured　rubber；　smelled　its　acrid　stench；　the　screech　of　tearing　metal；　cries　of　anguish。　Vehicles　were　still　running　into　one　another；　he　felt　the　van　move　again；　pushed　forward　another　few　yards。　Shouting；　screams　of　pain　and　terror。
　　
　　Then　silence；　plete　and　utter　for　a　few　seconds。　He　did　not　try　to　move；　just　lay　there　in　the　bloody　half…darkness　trying　to　figure　out　exactly　what　had　happened。　A　multi　pile…up；　they　made　the　television　news　every　so　often　but　everybody　forgot　and　they　happened　again。　Vehicles　travelling　too　close　together　in　adverse　weather　conditions；　people　never　learned；　including　himself。　It　can't　happen　to　me；　it's　those　other　silly　buggers。　And　suddenly　he　was　one　of　those　silly　buggers。
　　
　　Don't　move；　just　lie　still　and　somebody　will　e　to　help　soon。　I'm　scared　to　hell　to　look　out　there；　I'm　not　badly　hurt　really；　just　cut　and　bruised。　His　senses　swam；　came　back　again。　He　fought　down　his　rising　panic。
　　
　　It　might　have　been　seconds　or　hours　later…he　had　lost　all　concept　of　time…when　he　sensed　rather　than　heard　a　movement　in　the　cab。　A　flicker　of　hope；　raising　his　head　up　a　few　inches　off　the　ground。　His　eyes　hurt；　as　if　somebody　was　pushing　a　sharp　instrument　into　them；　he　gasped；　coughed；　tasted　blood。　I'm　here；　you　bloody　fool。　Help　me。　He　tried　to　call　out　but　the　words　would　not　e；　were　strangulated　into　a　low　moan。
　　
　　Something　moved。　His　vision　blurred；　cleared；　but　only　partially。　An　arm　was　reaching　in　through　the　smashed　cab　window；　feeling　inside。　Jesus；　don't　tell　me　you　can't　see　me！　Ken　tried　to　shout；　mustered　his　vocal　cords　for　one　supreme　effort　and　managed　a　wheezing　gurgle；　experienced　a　sensation　as　if　he　were　drowning　and　tasted　blood　again。
　　
　　A　fist；　clenched。　Erect。　Some　guy's　got　one　helluva　long　arm；　he　thought。　If　they　can't　get　to　me　why　the　fuck　don't　they　start　cutting　into　the　cab？
　　
　　That　fist　was　starting　to　open　out。　The　driver　stared；　forced　his　agonised　eyes　to　work　with　sheer　willpower。　It　did　not　look　right；　the　arm　was　elongated　like　one　of　those　cartoons　they　fed　the　kids　every　afternoon　on　TV；　no　fingers；　either　a　malformed　hand　or　else　the　berk　was　wearing　mittens。　Bloody　crazy；　I'll　go　mad　in　a　second。
　　
　　And　then　everything　turned　crazy。　That　hand；　if　it　was　a　hand；　had　two　tiny　eyes；　orbs　that　glinted　and　flickered；　came　forward　in　a　sinister　supple　movement；　a　kind　of　mottled　greenish…grey。　A　mouth；　opening；　and　in　those　eyes　Ken　Wilson　read　hate　and　malevolence。　And　death。
　　
　　The　worst　moment　was　when　realisation　dawned；　the　jig…saw　pieces　slotted　together　through　a　haze　of　pain　and　fear；　formed　a　picture　which　left　no　doubt　in　his　terror…crazed　mind。
　　
　　Jesus　God　Almighty；　no！　A　cobra；　the　most　fearsome　and　deadly　of　all　snakes。
　　
　　Its　face　was　only　a　foot　away　from　his　own。　He　tried　to　press　himself　back　against　the　crumpled　wreckage　of　the　cab　but　there　was　nowhere　to　go。　The　creature　was　gloating；　prolonging　the　fatal　strike；　savouring　the　mental　anguish　of　Man；　its　captor　for　so　long　and　now　at　its　mercy。
　　
　　No；　please；　I　don't　want　to　hurt　you。　I'm　only　the　driver。
　　
　　A　trick　of　the　half…light；　or　did　it　smile；　an　evil　elongation　of　that　awful　mouth；　another　movement　of　the　hooded　head。　He　wanted　to　close　his　eyes　and　shut　it　out　but　his　lids　appeared　to　have　stuck。　Forced　to　look　into　those　flashing　pinpoints；　reading　death　there　and　praying　that　it　would　be　quick。　I'm　dying　anyhow；　you　don't　have　to　bother　to　kill　me。　Just　leave　me　alone　and　I'll　be　dead　before　long。
　　
　　Background　noises；　engines　running；　people　screaming　for　help　outside　in　the　Stygian　blackness。　A　stench　that　was　overpowering；　the　smell　of　burning　rubber　and　heated　metal；　the　smell　of　death。
　　
　　Wilson's　mind　had　gone　numb；　an　instinctive　anaesthetic　that　spared　him　pain　at　the　very　last；　transcending　the　limits　of　human　endurance。　He　saw　the　cobra；　knew　that　it　was　going　to　kill　him　but　suddenly　it　did　not　seem　so　terrible　after　all。　He　would　have　died　anyway；　maybe　lingered　for　days；　perhaps　ended　up　on　a　life…support　machine；　clinically　dead　but　the　vital　organs　kept　alive。　A　pointless　exercise　demonstrating　Man's　cruelty　to　Man；　the　law　forbidding　euthanasia。　They　wouldn't　let　a　wounded　animal　suffer；　they'd　put　it　down；　yet　it　was　all　right　for　a　fellow…human　to　undergo　indescribable　agonies。　A　twisted　philosophy。　He　wanted　to　laugh　because　he　had　beaten　the　System；　cheated　them。
　　
　　The　reptile　struck；　a　sharp　pain　somewhere　in　the　region　of　his　neck；　like　the　prick　of　an　injection；　he　couldn't　make　up　his　mind　whether　it　had　bitten　him　or　spat　venom　because　the　head　was　several　inches　away　from　his　face。　Possibly　a　movement　too　quick　for　the　eye　to　follow。　It　didn't　matter　because　it　was　all　over　now。
　　
　　He　felt　the　movement　of　its　body　as　it　crawled　across　him　like　a　thick　rough　hosepipe　being　dragged　over　him；　and　then　he　wondered　where　it　had　gone　because　he　could　neither　see　it　nor　hear　it　any　longer。　Probably　out　of　the　opposite　window。
　　
　　A　sensation　as　if　he　were　burning　up；　as　if　somebody　had　injected　him　with　acid　and　his　veins　were　corroding　away；　and　then　the　numbness　took　over　again　and　cut　out　the　pain；　left　him　with　a　light…headedness　as　though　he　were　floating　weightles