sk.dreamcatcher-第109部分

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　　　　Pearly　had　groaned；　but　he　had　also　sat　up。　When　he　opened　his　mouth　to　say　something；　a　tooth　had　tumbled　out　onto　the　front　of　his　parka。　The　tooth　had　looked　perfect　to　Kurtz。　Look；　Ma；　no　cavities。
　　　　Pearly　said　that　Owen　and　his　new　buddy　were　still　stopped；　still　in　Derry。　Very　good。　Yummy。　Not　so　good　fifteen　minutes　later；　as　Freddy　sent　the　Humvee　trudging　down　another　snow…covered　entrance　ramp　and　back　onto　the　turnpike。　This　was　Exit　28；　only　one　interchange　away　from　their　target；　but　a　miss　was　as　good　as　a　mile。
　　　　'They're　on　the　move　again；'　Perlmutter　said。　He　sounded　weak　and　washed　out。
　　　　'Goddammit！'　He　was　full　of　rage　…　sick　and　useless　rage　at　Owen　Underhill；　who　now　symbolized　（at　least　to　Abe　Kurtz）　the　whole　sorry；　busted　operation。
　　　　Pearly　uttered　a　deep　groan；　a　sound　of　utter；　hollow　despair。　His　stomach　had　begun　to　rise　again。　He　was　clutching　it；　his　cheeks　wet　with　perspiration。　His　normally　unremarkable　face　had　bee　almost　handsome　in　his　pain。　　　
　　　　Now　he　let　another　long　and　ghastly　fart；　a　passage　of　wind　which　seemed　to　go　on　and　on。　The　sound　of　it　made　Kurtz　think　of　gadgets　they'd　constructed　at　summer　camp　a　thousand　or　so　years　ago；　noisemakers　that　consisted　of　tin　cans　and　lengths　of　waxed　string。　Bullroarers；　they'd　called　them。
　　　　The　stench　that　filled　the　Humvee　was　the　smell　of　the　red　cancer　growing　in　Pearly's　sewage…treatment　plant；　first　feeding　on　his　wastes；　then　getting　to　the　good　stuff。　Pretty　horrible。　Still；　there　was　an　upside。　Freddy　was　getting　better　and　Kurtz　had　never　caught　the　damned　Ripley　in　the　first　place　（perhaps　he　was　immune；　in　any　case；　he　had　taken　off　the　mask　and　tossed　it　indifferently　in　back　fifteen　minutes　ago）。　And　Pearly；　although　undoubtedly　ill；　was　also　valuable；　a　man　with　a　really　good　radar　jammed　up　his　ass。　So　Kurtz　patted　Perlmutter　on　the　shoulder；　ignoring　the　stench。　Sooner　or　later　the　thing　inside　him　would　get　out；　and　that　would　likely　mean　an　end　to　Pearly's　usefulness；　but　Kurtz　wouldn't　worry　about　that　until　he　had　to。
　　　　'Hold　on；'　Kurtz　said　tenderly。　'Just　tell　it　to　go　back　to　sleep　again。'
　　　　'You　。　。　。　fucking　。　。　。　idiot！'　Perlmutter　gasped。
　　　　'That's　right；'　Kurtz　agreed。　'Whatever　you　say；　buck。'　After　all；　he　was　a　fucking　idiot。　Owen　had　turned　out　to　be　a　cowardly　coyote；　and　who　had　put　him　in　the　damn　henhouse？
　　　　They　were　passing　Exit　27　now。　Kurtz　looked　up　the　ramp　and　fancied　he　could　almost　see　the　tracks　of　the　Hummer　Owen　was　driving。　Somewhere　up　there；　on　one　side　of　the　overpass　or　the　other；　was　the　house　to　which　Owen　and　his　new　friend　had　made　their　inexplicable　detour。　Why？
　　　　'They　stopped　to　get　Duddits；'　Perlmutter　said。　His　belly　was　going　down　again　and　the　worst　of　his　pain　seemed　to　have　passed。　For　now；　at　least。
　　　　'Duddits？　What　kind　of　name　is　that？'
　　　　'I　don't　know。　I'm　picking　this　up　from　his　mother。　Him　I　can't　see。　He's　different；　boss。　It's　almost　as　if　he's　a　grayboy　instead　of　human。'
　　　　Kurtz　felt　his　back　prickle　at　that。
　　　　'The　mother　thinks　of　this　guy　Duddits　as　both　a　boy　and　a　man；'　Pearly　said。　This　was　the　most　unprompted　munication　from　him　Kurtz　had　gotten　since　they'd　left　Gosselin's。　Perlmutter　sounded　almost　interested；　by　God。
　　　　'Maybe　he's　retarded；'　Freddy　said。
　　　　Perlmutter　glanced　over　at　Freddy。　That　could　be。　Whatever　he　is；　he's　sick。'　Pearly　sighed。　'I　know　how　he　feels。'
　　　　Kurtz　patted　Perlmutter's　shoulder　again。　'Chin　up；　laddie。　What　about　the　fellows　they're　after？　This　Gary　Jones　and　the　supposed　Mr　Gray？'　He　didn't　much　care；　but　there　was　the　possibility　that　the　course　and　progress　of　Jones　…　and　Gray；　if　Gray　existed　outside　of　Owen　Underhill's　fevered　imagination　…　would　impact　upon　the　course　and　progress　of　Underhill；　Devlin；　and　。　。　。　Duddits？
　　　　Perlmutter　shook　his　head；　then　closed　his　eyes　and　leaned　his　head　back　against　the　seat　again。　His　little　spate　of　energy　and　interest　seemed　to　have　passed。　'Nothing；'　he　said。　'Blocked　off。'
　　　　'Maybe　not　there　at　all？'
　　　　'Oh；　something's　there；'　Perlmutter　said。　'It's　like　a　black　hole。'　Dreamily；　he　said：　'I　hear　so　many　voices。　They're　already　sending　in　the　reinforcements　。　。　。'
　　　　As　if　Perlmutter　had　conjured　it；　the　biggest　convoy　Kurtz　had　seen　in　twenty　years　appeared　in　the　northbound　lanes　of　1…95。　First　came　two　enormous　plows；　as　big　as　elephants；　running　side　by　side　with　their　clifflike　blades　spurning　up　snow　on　either　side；　baring　both　lanes　all　the　way　down　to　the　pavement。　Behind　them；　a　pair　of　sand…trucks；　also　running　in　tandem。　And　behind　the　sand…trucks；　a　double　line　of　Army　vehicles　and　heavy　ordnance。　Kurtz　saw　shrouded　shapes　on　flatbed　haulers　and　knew　they　could　only　be　missiles。　Other　flatbeds　held　radar　dishes；　range…finders；　God　knew　what　else。　Interspersed　among　them　were　big　canvasback　troop…carriers；　their　headlamps　glaring　in　the　brightening　daylight。　Not　hundreds　of　men　but　thousands；　prepared　for　God　knew　what　World　War　Three；　hand…to…hand　bat　with　two…headed　creatures　or　maybe　the　intelligent　bugs　from　Starship　Troopers；　plague；　madness；　death；　doomsday。　If　any　of　Katie　Gallagher's　Imperial　Valleys　were　still　operating　up　there；　Kurtz　hoped　they　would　soon　cease　what　they　were　doing　and　head　for　Canada。　Raising　their　hands　in　the　air　and　calling　out　Il　n'y　a　pas　d'infection　ici　wouldn't　do　them　any　good；　certainly；　that　ploy　had　already　been　tried。　And　it　was　all　so　meaningless。　In　his　heart　of　hearts；　Kurtz　knew　Owen　had　been　right　about　at　least　one　thing：　it　was　over　up　there。　They　could　shut　the　barn　door；　praise　God；　but　the　horse　had　been　stolen。
　　　　'They're　going　to　close　it　down　for　good；'　Perlmutter　said。　'The　Jefferson　Tract　just　became　the　fifty…first　state。　And　it's　a　police　state。'
　　　　'You　can　still　key　on　Owen？'
　　　　'Yes；'　Perlmutter　said　absently。　'But　not　for　long。　He's　getting　better；　too。　Losing　the　telepathy。'
　　　　'Where　is　he；　buck？'
　　　　'They　just　passed　Exit　25。　They　might　have　fifteen　miles　on　us。　Not　much　more。'
　　　　'Want　me　to　punch　it　a　little？'　Freddy　asked。
　　　　They　had　lost　their　chance　to　head　Owen　off　because　of　the　goddam　semi。　The　last　thing　in　the　world　Kurtz　wanted　was　to　lose　another　chance　by　skidding　off　the　road。
　　　　'Negative；'　Kurtz　said。　'For　the　time　being；　I　think　we'll　just　lay　back　and　let　em　run。'　He　crossed　his　arms　and　looked　out　at　the　linen…white　world　passing　by。　But　now　the　snow　had　stopped；　and　as　they　continued　south；　road　conditions　would　doubtless　improve。
　　　　It　had　been　an　eventful　twenty…four　hours。　He　had　blown　up　an　alien　spacecraft；　been　betrayed　by　the　man　he　had　regarded　as　his　logical　successor；　had　survived　a　mutiny　and　a　civilian　riot；　and　to　top　it　all　off；　he　had　been　relieved　of　his　mand　by　a　sunshine　soldier　who　had　never　heard　a　shot　fired　in　anger。　Kurtz's　eyes　slipped　shut。　After　a　few　moments；　he　dozed。


18

Jonesy　sat　moodily　behind　his　desk　for　quite　awhile；　sometimes　looking　at　the　phone　which　no　longer　worked；　sometimes　at　the　dreamcatcher　which　hung　from　the　ceiling　（it　wafted　in　some　barely　felt　air…current）；　sometimes　at　the　new　steel　shutters　with　which　that　bastard　Gray　had　blocked　his　vision。　And　always　that　low　rumble；　both　in　his　ears　and　shivering　his　buttocks　as　he　sat　in　his　chair。　It　could　have　been　a　rather　noisy　furnace；　one　in　need　of　servicing；　but　it　wasn't。　It　was　the　plow；　beating　its　way　south　and　south　and　south。　Mr　Gray　behind　the　wheel；　likely　wearing　a　DPW　cap　stolen　from　his　most　recent　victim；　horsing　the　plow　along；　working　the　wheel　with　Jonesy's　muscles；　listening　to　developments　on　the　plow's　CB　with　Jonesy's　ears。
　　　　So；　Jonesy；　how　long　you　going　to　sit　here　feeling　sorry　for　yourself？
　　　　Jonesy；　who　had　been　slumping　in　his　seat　…　almost　dozing；　in　fact　…　straightened　up　at　that。　Henry's　voice。　Not　arriving　telepathically　…　there　were　no　voices　now；　Mr　Gray　had　blocked　all　but　his　own　…　but；　rather；　coining　from　his　own　mind。　Nonetheless；　it　stung　him。
　　　　I'm　not　feeling　sorry　for　myself；　I'm　blocked　off！　Not　liking　the　sulky；　defensive　quality　of　the　thought；　vocalized；　it　would　no　doubt　have　e　out　as　a　whine。　Can't　fall　out；　can't　see　out；　can't　go　out；　I　don't　know　where　you　are；　Henry；　but　I'm　in　a　goddam　isolation　booth。
　　　　Did　he　steal　your　brains？
　　　　'Shut　up。'　Jonesy　rubbed　at　his　temple。
　　　　Did　he　take　your　memories？
　　　　No。　Of　course　not。　Even　in　here；　with　a　double…locked　door　between　him　and　those　billions　of　labeled　cartons；　he　could　recall　wiping　a　booger　on　the　end　of　Bonnie　Deal's　braid　in　first　grade　（and　then　asking　that　same　Bonnie　to　dance　at　the　seventh…grade　Harvest　Hop　six　years　later）；　watching　carefully　as　Lamar　Clarendon　taught　them　to　play　the　game　（known　as　cribbage　to　the　low　and　the　uninitiated）；　seeing　Rick　McCarthy　e　out　of　the　woods　and　thinking　he　was　a　deer。　He　could　remember　all　those　things。　There　might　be　an　advantage　in　that；　but　Jonesy　was　damned　if　he　knew　what　it　was。　Maybe　because　it　was　too　big；　too　obvious。
　　　　To　be　stuck　like　this　after　all　the　mysteries　you've　read；　his　mind's　version　of　Henry　taunted　him。　Not　to　mention　all　those　science…fiction　movies　where　the　aliens　arrive；　everything　from　The　Day　the　Earth　Stoo