gns.snakes-第5部分

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er　again　and　cut　out　the　pain；　left　him　with　a　light…headedness　as　though　he　were　floating　weightlessly　through　the　atmosphere。　Euphoric　because　it　was　all　over　and　it　didn't　hurt。
　　
　　Outside　the　van　the　cobra　dropped　silently　on　to　the　wet　tarmac　and　slithered　away　beneath　the　crumpled　wreckage；　its　victim　forgotten。　The　killing　was　over　and　now　its　instincts　turned　to　survival　in　an　alien　world　of　hard　man…made　surfaces　where　the　air　was　filled　with　pungent　smoke　and　noises　beyond　its　primitive　prehension。
　　
　　It　made　it　to　the　hard　shoulder；　found　the　long　grass　of　the　adjacent　embankment　and　began　the　ascent；　a　powerful　wary　creature　that　underwent　a　new　experience　after　a　lifetime　of　boredom　in　captivity。
　　
　　It　tasted　fear　for　the　first　time；　fear　that　merged　into　anger　and　gave　it　the　killing　urge　again。
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　3
　　
　　THE　YOUNG　police　constable　in　the　motorway　patrol　car　felt　his　stomach　churn　as　the　message　came　over　the　radio。　A　weakness　engulfed　his　limbs　and　he　remembered　how　he　used　to　be　carsick　as　a　child　every　time　his　parents　took　him　out　in　the　dark　blue　Maxi　which　they　kept　polished　in　the　garage　in　readiness　for　a　Sunday　afternoon　spin；　an　urge　to　open　the　door；　lean　out；　leave　a　trail　of　vomit　in　their　wake。　He　wanted　to　be　back　at　HQ；　a　desk　job；　checking　traffic　reports；　anywhere　except　out　here。
　　
　　He　did　not　speak；　turned　his　head　to　one　side　in　case　Sergeant　Bufton　saw　how　white　he'd　gone。　The　sergeant　had　a　reputation　as　a　right　bastard；　both　in　the　station　and　out　on　the　cars。　Just　plain　nasty　and　sarcastic；　he　didn't　know　any　other　way；　and　a　young　PC　was　fair　game。
　　
　　'Ever　seen　a　dead　body；　constable？　I　don't　mean　a　stiff　all　neatly　laid　out　in　a　mortuary；　I　mean　one　in　a　dozen　different　pieces　that　you've　got　to　retrieve　from　the　highway；　gather　'em　up　in　a　sack　and　try　and　find　out　what　fits　where？　Like　a　kind　of　jig…saw　puzzle　and　some　of　them　can　be　real　teasers；　but　when　you've　been　to　a　dozen　or　so　such　accidents　you　instinctively　know　what　fits　where。　You'll　find　out　before　long。'
　　
　　That　was　how　Bufton　had　briefed　young　Mark　Bazeley　on　the　first　morning　he　reported　for　motorway　patrol　duty。　A　week　last　Monday。　Things　had　been　quiet；　just　two　or　three　smashes；　one　death　but　the　victim　had　died　in　hospital　three　days　later　from　internal　injuries。　Now　the　horror　was　about　to　start。　The　real　horror。
　　
　　'Sounds　like　a　bad　'un；　Sarge；'　Bazeley　tried　to　keep　his　voice　even；　attempted　to　sound　almost　casual。　Better　get　in　first　before　the　bastard　gives　me　a　run…down　of　what　to　expect。
　　
　　'You　heard　what　the　radio　said；'　Bufton　shouted　to　make　himself　heard　above　the　whine　of　the　siren。　'A　multiple　pile…up。　That　could　mean　a　dozen　vehicles。　Or　fifty。　We　won't　know　until　we　get　there　and　as　it's　only　at　junction　twenty…two　we'll　be　first　on　the　scene。　Another　minute　and　a　half　by　my　reckoning。　I'll　count　the　vehicles；　you　count　the　corpses。'　A　laugh　that　was　devoid　of　humour；
　　
　　Bazeley　wished　there　was　somewhere　he　could　vomit　in　private；　just　a　quick　throw…up　to　clear　his　guts　and　then　he'd　face　it。　His　panion　wasn't　just　being　sadistic　for　the　sake　of　it；　it　was　a　kind　of　mental　barrier；　a　shield　he　was　throwing　up　to　protect　the　two　of　them。　Don't　think　of　them　as　people；　think　of　them　as　units；　units　of　work；　and　when　the　job's　done　you　can　put　it　all　out　of　your　mind。　If　you　don't；　you'll　end　up　in　the　head　farm。　But　Bufton　wouldn't　put　it　into　words；　you　had　to　read　him　like　a　plicated　book　to　see　what　he　was　driving　at。　Just　don't　let　him　see　you're　scared。
　　
　　'Here　we　are。'　The　sergeant　eased　his　foot　off　the　throttle；　the　speedo　needle　dropping　from　80　to　70。　To　60。　Braking。
　　
　　It　was　difficult　to　discern　details　through　the　deluge；　the　wet　road　reflecting　the　deep　red　of　rear　lights　interspersed　with　the　flashing　blue　from　the　police　car。　A　tail…back　of　traffic；　people　out　of　their　vehicles　and　walking　down　the　lanes　oblivious　of　the　thunderstorm　or…slowing　cars　and　lorries。
　　
　　'Idiots！'　Bufton　slowed；　eased　off　the　motorway　and　on　to　the　hard　shoulder；　kept　his　speed　down　to　30　mph。　'Ghouls。　AH　they're　interested　in　is　gawping　at　mangled　bodies。　You　get　'em　at　the　scene　of　every　accident。　Now；　it　seems　to　start　here　。　。　。'
　　
　　The　police　car　came　to　a　halt；　warning　lights　and　flashers　left　on　as　the　two　officers　got　out。　Two　or　three　prangs；　nothing　more；　the　bad　ones　would　be　further　along　where　the　first　vehicles　had　collided　at　speed。
　　
　　Bazeley's　mouth　was　dry　as　they　put　some　orange　cones　out。　This　was　the　easy　part；　take　your　time　and　follow　the　sergeant。　He's　a　bastard　but　you　need　him　now　more　than　you've　ever　needed　anybody。
　　
　　The　constable　glanced　back　behind　them。　He　could　hear　wailing　sirens。　Ambulances；　fire　engines　and　more　motorway　patrols　were　on　the　way。　Jesus；　hurry　up。
　　
　　The　rain　storm　was　at　its　peak。　The　thunder　and　lightning　had　passed　on；　left　the　cloudburst　to　follow；　a　deluge　of　water　that　hit　the　officers'　orange　plastic　jackets　with　force。
　　
　　Then　they　heard　the　screams　of　pain　and　terror；　the　hysterical　cries　for　help。　Vehicles　were　crunched　up　now；　these　were　the　ones　that　had　taken　the　full　force　of　the　accident　at　speeds　of　up　to　70　mph。
　　
　　A　van；　it　was　impossible　to　recognise　the　make；　was　flattened　beneath　the　trailer　of　an　articulated　lorry。　A　sheet　of　pressed　metal；　the　chassis　would　have　to　be　prised　apart　if　they　were　going　to　find　out　who　was　inside。　Human　silhouettes。　Bazeley　noticed　a　pool　of　scarlet　fluid　being　diluted　by　the　rain　and　tasted　bile　at　the　back　of　his　throat。　But　at　least　he　didn't　have　to　do　anything　about　it。
　　
　　The　artic　had　ploughed　into　a　big　carrier；　which　in　turn　had　crunched　a　small　car；　it　could　have　been　a　Clubman　estate　but　the　details　would　be　sorted　out　later。　The　young　officer　felt　something　else　besides　fear；　sheer　helplessness。　I　can't　do　anything；　I　can't　help　anybody。　I'm　just　a　bystander　like　these　ghouls　the　sarge　was　on　about；　except　that　I　don't　want　to　be　here。
　　
　　A　car　was　blazing　somewhere；　the　thick　black　smoke　kept　low　by　the　thunderstorm；　creating　a　dense　black　fog　that　made　everything　a　thousand　times　more　terrifying；　shapes　that　moved　and　screamed；　came　at　you　out　of　the　blackness　and　you　only　saw　the　injuries　and　the　blood　when　they　got　close；　had　you　stepping　carefully　in　case　you　fell　headlong　over　a　corpse。　There　appeared　to　be　bodies　everywhere。
　　
　　Bazeley　kicked　something；　recognised　it　as　a　severed　arm　as　it　rolled　away。　That　was　when　he　threw　up；　vomited　everything　out　of　his　guts　in　one　spouting　spew　and　hoped　that　the　sergeant　did　not　see　him　in　the　smoky　darkness。
　　
　　And　then　he　saw　the　girl。　Her　piercing　screams　had　his　blood　running　cold　and　when　she　came　staggering　out　of　the　darkness　he　almost　turned　and　ran。　Oh　God；　she　had　to　be　hurt　bad；　he　didn't　want　to　see；　didn't　want　to　have　her　clinging　to　him　and　bleeding　all　over　him。
　　
　　Miraculously　she　wasn't　bleeding；　in　fact　she　did　not　appear　to　be　injured　at　all。　He　stared　at　her　with　smarting　eyes　and　wondered　for　a　second　if　his　brain　was　playing　tricks　on　him；　if　he　wasn't　up　to　all　this　and　something　inside　him　had　snapped。
　　
　　She　could　not　have　been　more　than　twenty。　Long　blonde　hair　that　fell　below　her　shoulders　and　a　figure　that　any　model　would　have　been　proud　of。　So　beautiful。　And　naked；　except　for　a　shoe　on　her　left　foot。
　　
　　She　was　screaming　hysterically；　clutching　at　her　stomach；　bent　double；　straightening　up　again；　but　even　in　her　crazed　agonised　state　she　recognised　a　police　officer；　knew　that　he　might　be　able　to　help　her。
　　
　　Police　Constable　Bazeley　stared；　mentally　recoiled；　but　there　was　no　blood　ing　from　the　girl。　Maybe　her　injuries　were　internal；　in　which　case　it　wouldn't　be　so　bad　for　him。　He　would　help　her；　stay　with　her　until　the　ambulances　arrived。　It　was　a　let…off；　not　a　pleasant　one；　but　better　than　tending　injuries　that　spouted　blood　all　over　you　whilst　you　tried　to　stem　an　arterial　wound。　Coward！　OK；　I'm　a　coward　but　I'll　try　and　calm　this　bird。
　　
　　He　reached　out　for　her　just　as　she　stumbled；　slipped　through　his　grasp　and　fell　face　down　on　the　tarmac。　Immediately　her　body　was　convulsing；　doubling　up；　her　toes　on　the　unclad　foot　curling　inwards　in　sheer　agony。　She　was　clutching　at　her　abdomen。
　　
　　Mark　Bazeley　felt　her　pain　as　he　grasped　her；　every　nerve　and　muscle　in　her　lithe　body　at　breaking　point　as　it　took　the　strain　of　the　ultimate　in　pain；　shuddering。　Crazed；　she　tried　to　fight　him　as　he　rolled　her　over；　her　white　even　teeth　clenched　as　though　in　the　throes　of　a　fit；　spittle　frothing　from　her　soft　red　lips。
　　
　　For　a　split　second　his　mind　shut　off　and　he　saw　her　as　a　young　man　sees　a　beautiful　naked　girl。　The　shapely　thighs　parted；　legs　wide　and　kicking　frantically　as　though　she　had　just　hit　a　climax。　Moans　that　he　wished　were　orgasmic　cries　of　delight　and　the　two　of　them　anywhere　else　but　here。　Her　hands　came　off　her　stomach；　her　fists　clenched　and　she　pummelled　at　him　crazily；　those　groans　escalating　into　screams。　Back　to　reality；　she　was　in　unbelievable　pai