sk.dreamcatcher-第23部分

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　　　　'Eat　snot　and　rot；'　Beaver　breathed。　Then　he　advanced　on　the　doe；　clapping　his　hands。　'Bug　out；　Mabel！　Don't　you　know　what　time　of　year　this　is？　Go　on！　Put　an　egg　in　your　shoe　and　beat　it！　Make　like　an　amoeba　and　split！'
　　　　The　deer　stayed　where　she　was　for　a　moment；　eyes　widening　in　an　expression　of　alarm　that　was　almost　human。　Then　she　whirled　around；　her　head　skimming　the　line　of　pots　and　ladles　and　tongs　hanging　over　the　stove。　They　clanged　together　and　some　fell　from　their　hooks；　adding　to　the　clangor。　Then　she　was　out　the　door；　little　white　tail　flipping。
　　　　Beaver　followed；　pausing　long　enough　to　look　at　the　cluster　of　droppings　on　the　linoleum　with　a　jaundiced　eye。


4

The　mixed　migration　of　animals　had　pretty　well　dried　up　to　stragglers。　The　doe　Beav　had　scared　out　of　their　kitchen　leaped　over　a　limping　fox　that　had　apparently　lost　one　paw　to　a　trap　and　then　disappeared　into　the　woods。　Then；　from　above　the　low…hanging　clouds　just　beyond　the　snowmobile　shed；　a　lumbering　helicopter　the　size　of　a　city　bus　appeared。　It　was　brown；　with　the　letters　ANG　printed　on　the　side　in　white。
　　　　Ang？　Beaver　thought。　What　the　hell　is　Ang？　Then　he　realized：　Air　National　Guard；　probably　out　of　Bangor。
　　　　It　dipped；　nose…heavy。　Beaver　stepped　into　the　back　yard；　waving　his　arms　over　his　head。　'Hey！'　he　shouted。　'Hey；　little　help　here！　Little　help；　guys！'
　　　　The　helicopter　descended　until　it　was　no　more　than　seventy…five　feet　off　the　ground；　close　enough　to　raise　the　fresh　snow　in　a　cyclone。　Then　it　moved　toward　him；　carrying　the　snow　cyclone　with　it。
　　　　'Hey！　We　got　a　hurt　guy　here！　Hurt　guy！'　jumping　up　and　down　now　like　one　of　those　numbass　bootscooters　on　The　Nashville　Network；　feeling　like　a　jerk　but　doing　it　anyway。　The　chopper　drifted　toward　him；　low　but　not　ing　any　lower；　not　showing　any　sign　of　actually　landing；　and　a　horrid　idea　filled　him。　Beav　didn't　know　if　it　was　something　he　was　getting　from　the　guys　in　the　chopper　or　just　paranoia。　All　he　could　be　sure　of　was　that　he　suddenly　felt　like　something　pinned　to　the　center　ring　of　a　target　in　a　shooting　gallery：　hit　the　Beaver　and　win　a　clock…radio。
　　　　The　chopper's　side　door　slid　back。　A　man　holding　a　bullhorn　and　wearing　the　bulkiest　parka　Beaver　had　ever　seen　came　tilting　out　toward　him。　The　parka　and　the　bullhorn　didn't　bother　the　Beav。　What　bothered　him　was　the　oxygen　mask　the　guy　was　wearing　over　his　mouth　and　nose。　He'd　never　heard　of　fliers　needing　to　wear　oxygen　masks　at　an　attitude　of　seventy…five　feet。　Not；　that　was；　if　the　air　they　were　breathing　was　okay。
　　　　The　man　in　the　parka　spoke　into　the　bullhorn　the　words　conning　out　loud　and　clear　over　the　whup…whup…whup　of　the　helicopter's　rotors　but　sounding　strange　anyway；　partly　because　of　the　amplification　but　mostly；　Beaver　thought；　because　of　the　mask。　It　was　like　being　addressed　by　some　strange　robot　god。
　　　　'HOW　MANY　ARE　YOU？'　the　god…voice　called　down。　'SHOW　ME　ON　YOUR　FINGERS。'
　　　　Beaver；　confused　and　frightened；　at　first　thought　only　of　himself　and　Jonesy；　Henry　and　Pete　weren't　back　from　the　store；　after　all。　He　raised　two　fingers　like　a　guy　giving　the　peace　sign。
　　　　'STAY　WHERE　YOU　ARE！'　the　man　leaning　out　of　the　helicopter　boomed　in　his　robot　god's　voice。　'THIS　AREA　IS　UNDER　TEMPORARY　QUARANTINE！　SAY　AGAIN；　THIS　AREA　IS　UNDER　TEMPORARY　QUARANTINE！　YOU　MUST　NOT　LEAVE！'
　　　　The　snowfall　was　thinning；　but　now　the　wind　kicked　up　and　blew　a　sheet　of　the　snow　which　had　been　sucked　up　by　the　copter's　rotors　into　Beaver's　face。　He　slitted　his　eyes　against　it　and　waved　his　arms。　He　sucked　in　freezing　snow；　spat　out　his　toothpick　to　keep　from　yanking　that　down　his　throat；　too　（it　was　how　he　would　die；　his　mother　constantly　predicted；　by　pulling　a　toothpick　down　his　throat　and　choking　on　it）；　and　then　screamed：　'What　do　you　mean；　quarantine？　We　got　a　sick　guy　down　here；　you　got　to　e　and　get　him！'
　　　　Knowing　they　couldn't　hear　him　under　the　big　whup…whup…whup　of　the　rotor　blades；　he　didn't　have　any　fucking　bullhorn　to　boost　his　voice；　but　yelling　anyway。　And　as　the　words　sick　guy　passed　through　his　lips；　he　realized　he'd　given　the　guy　in　the　chopper　the　wrong　number　of　fingers　…　they　were　three；　not　two。　He　started　to　raise　that　number　of　fingers；　then　thought　of　Henry　and　Pete。　They　weren't　here　yet　but　unless　something　had　happened　to　them；　they　would　be　…　so　how　many　were　they？　Two　was　the　wrong　answer；　but　was　three　the　right　one？　Or　was　it　five？　As　he　usually　did　in　such　situations；　Beaver　went　into　mental　dog…lock。　When　it　happened　in　school；　there'd　been　Henry　sitting　beside　him　or　Jonesy　behind　him　to　give　him　the　answers。　Out　here　there　was　no　one　to　help；　only　that　big　whup…whup…whup　smacking　into　his　ears　and　all　that　swirling　snow　going　down　his　throat　and　into　his　lungs；　making　him　cough。
　　　　'STAY　WHERE　YOU　ARE！　THIS　SITUATION　WILL　BE　RESOLVED　IN　TWENTY…FOUR　TO　FORTY…EIGHT　HOURS！　IF　YOU　NEED　FOOD；　CROSS　YOUR　ARMS　OVER；　YOUR　HEAD！'
　　　　'There　are　more　of　us！'　Beaver　screamed　at　the　man　leaning　out　of　the　helicopter。　He　screamed　so　loudly　red　dots　danced　in　front　of　his　eyes。　'We　got　a　hurt　guy　here！　We　。　。　。　have　got　。　。　。　A　HURT　GUY！'　The　idiot　in　the　helicopter　tossed　his　bullhorn　back　into　the　cabin　behind　him；　then　made　a　thumb…and…forefinger　circle　down　at　Beaver；　as　if　to　say；　Okay！　Gotcha！　Beaver　felt　like　dancing　in　frustration。　Instead；　he　raised　one　open　hand　above　his　head　…　a　finger　each　for　him　and　his　friends；　plus　the　thumb　for　McCarthy。　The　man　in　the　helicopter　took　this　in；　then　grinned。　For　one　truly　wonderful　moment；　Beaver　thought　he　had　gotten　through　to　the　mask…wearing　fuckwad。　Then　the　fuckwad　returned　what　he　thought　was　Beaver's　wave；　said　something　to　the　pilot　behind　him；　and　the　ANG　helicopter　began　to　rise。　Beaver　Clarendon　was　still　standing　there；　frosted　with　swirling　snow　and　screaming。　There's　five　of　us　and　we　need　help！　There's　five　of　us　and　we　need　somefucking　HELP！'
　　　　The　copter　vanished　back　into　the　clouds。


5

Jonesy　heard　some　of　this　…　certainly　he　heard　the　amplified　voice　from　the　Thunderbolt　helicopter　…　but　registered　very　little；　He　was　too　concerned　with　McCarthy；　who　had　given　a　number　of　small　and　breathless　screams；　then　fallen　silent。　The　stench　ing　under　the　door　continued　to　thicken。
　　　　'McCarthy！'　he　yelled　as　Beaver　came　back　in。　'Open　this　door　or　we　break　it　down！'
　　　　'Get　away　from　me！'　McCarthy　screamed　back　in　a　thin；　distracted　voice。　'I　have　to　shit；　that's　all；　I　HAVE　TO　SHIT！　If　I　can　shit　I'll　be　all　right！'
　　　　Such　straight　talk；　ing　from　a　man　who　seemed　to　consider　oh　gosh　and　oh　dear　strong　language；　frightened　Jonesy　even　more　than　the　bloody　sheet　and　underwear。　He　turned　to　Beaver；　barely　noticing　that　the　Beav　was　powdered　with　snow　and　looking　like　Frosty。　'e　on；　help　me　break　it　down。　We've　got　to　try　and　help　him。'
　　　　Beaver　looked　scared　and　worried。　Snow　was　melting　on　his　cheeks。　'I　dunno。　The　guy　in　the　helicopter　said　something　about　quarantine　…　what　if　he's　infected　or　something？　What　if　that　red　thing　on　his　face…'
　　　　In　spite　of　his　own　ungenerous　feelings　about　McCarthy；　Jonesy　felt　like　striking　his　old　friend。　This　previous　March　he　himself　had　lain　bleeding　in　a　street　in　Cambridge。　Suppose　people　had　refused　to　touch　him　because　he　might　have　AIDS？　Refused　to　help　him？　Just　left　him　there　to　bleed　because　there　were　no　rubber　gloves　handy？
　　　　'Beav；　we　were　right　down　in　his　face　…　if　he's　got　something　really　infectious；　we've　probably　caught　it　already。　Now　what　do　you　say？'
　　　　For　a　moment　what　Beaver　said　was　nothing。　Then　Jonesy　felt　that　click　in　his　head。　For　just　a　moment　he　saw　the　Beaver　he'd　grown　up　with；　a　kid　in　an　old　beat…up　motorcycle　jacket　who　had　cried　Hey；　you　guys；　quit　it！　Just　fucking　QUIT　it！　and　knew　it　was　going　to　be　all　right。
　　　　Beaver　stepped　forward。　'Hey；　Rick；　how　about　opening　up？
　　　　We　just　want　to　help。'
　　　　Nothing　from　behind　the　door。　Not　a　cry；　not　a　breath；　not　so　much　as　the　sound　of　shifting　cloth。　The　only　sounds　were　the　steady　rumble　of　the　gennie　and　the　fading　whup　of　the　helicopter。
　　　　'Okay；'　Beaver　said；　then　crossed　himself　'Let's　break　the　fucker　down。'
　　　　They　stepped　back　together　and　turned　their　shoulders　toward　the　door；　half…consciously　miming　cops　in　half　a　hundred　movies。
　　　　'On　three；'　Jonesy　said。
　　　　'Your　leg　up　to　this；　man？'
　　　　In　fact；　Jonesy's　leg　and　hip　hurt　badly；　although　he　hadn't　precisely　realized　this　until　Beaver　brought　it　up。　'I'm　fine；'　he　said。
　　　　'Yeah；　and　my　ass　is　king　of　the　world。'
　　　　'On　three。　Ready？'　And　when　Beaver　nodded：　'One　。　。　。　two　。　。　。　three。'
　　　　They　rushed　forward　together　and　hit　the　door　together；　almost　four　hundred　pounds　behind　two　dropped　shoulders。　It　gave　way　with an　absurd　ease　that　spilled　them；　stumbling　and　grabbing　at　each　other；　into　the　bathroom。　Their　feet　skidded　in　the　blood　on　the　tiles。
　　　　'Ah；　fuck；'　Beaver　said。　His　right　hand　crept　to　his　mouth；　which　was　for　once　without　a　toothpick；　and　covered　it。　Above　his　hand；　his　eyes　were　wide　and　wet。　'Ah；　fuck；　man　…　fuck。'
　　　　Jonesy　found　he　could　say　nothing　at　all。

CHAPTER　FIVE

DUDDITS；　PART　ONE


1

'Lady'；　Pete　said。
　　　　The　woman　in　the　duffel　coat　said　nothing。