sk.dreamcatcher-第50部分

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　　　　Graggle　and　bleep　from　the　radio。　Blakey　in　Blue　Boy　Three。　'Boss；　hey　boss；　I　see　'
　　　　'Three；　this　is　Leader。　I　want　you　to…'
　　　　'Leader；　this　is　Three；　I　see　survivors；　repeat；　I　see　Blue　Boy　Four　survivors；　at　least　three　no；　four　I　am　going　down　to…'
　　　　'Negative；　Blue　Boy　Three；　not　at　all。　Resume　station　plus　fifty　…　belay　that；　station　plus　one…fifty；　one…five…oh；　and　do　it　now！'
　　　　'Ah；　but　sir　boss；　I　mean　。　。　。　I　can　see　Friedman；　he's　on　fucking　fire'
　　　　'Joe　Blakey；　listen　up。'
　　　　No　mistaking　Kurtz's　rasp；　Kurtz　who　had　gotten　clear　of　the　red　crap　in　plenty　of　time。　Almost；　Owen　thought；　as　if　he　knew　what　was　going　to　happen。
　　　　'Get　your　ass　out　of　there　now；　or　I　guarantee　that　by　next　week　you'll　be　shovelling　camel…shit　in　a　hot　climate　where　booze　is　illegal。　Out。'
　　　　Nothing　more　from　Blue　Boy　Three。　The　two　surviving　gunships　pulled　back　to　their　original　rally…point　plus　a　hundred　and　fifty　yards。　Owen　sat　watching　the　furious　upward　spiral　of　the　Ripley　fungus；　wondering　if　Kurtz　had　known　or　just　intuited；　wondering　if　he　and　Blakey　had　cleared　the　area　in　time。　Because　they　were　infectious；　of　course；　whatever　the　grayboys　said；　they　were　infectious。　Owen　didn't　know　if　that　justified　what　they　had　just　done；　but　he　thought　the　survivors　of　Pay　Deforest's　Blue　Boy　Four　were　most　likely　dead　men　walking。　Or　worse：　live　men　changing。　Turning　into　God　knew　what。
　　　　'Owen。'　The　radio。
　　　　Tony　looked　at　him；　eyebrows　raised。
　　　　'Owen。'
　　　　Sighing；　Owen　flicked　the　toggle　over　to　Kurtz's　closed　channel　with　his　chin。　'I'm　here；　boss。'


9

Kurtz　sat　in　the　Kiowa　with　the　newspaper　hat　still　in　his　lap。　He　and　Freddy　were　wearing　their　masks；　so　were　the　rest　of　boys　in　the　attack　group。　Likely　even　the　poor　fellows　now　on　the　ground　were　still　wearing　them。　The　masks　were　probably　unnecessary；　but　Kurtz；　who　had　no　intention　of　contracting　Ripley　if　he　could　avoid　it；　was　the　big　cheese。　Among　other　things；　he　was　supposed　to　set　an　example。　Besides；　he　played　the　odds。　As　for　Freddy　Johnson　。　。　。　well；　he　had　plans　for　Freddy。
　　　　'I'm　here；　boss；'　Underhill　said　in　his　phones。
　　　　'That　was　good　shooting；　better　flying；　and　superlative　thinking。　You　saved　some　lives。　You　and　I　are　back　where　we　were。　Right　back　to　Square　One。　Got　that？'
　　　　'I　do；　boss。　Got　it　and　appreciate　it。'
　　　　And　if　you　believe　it；　Kurtz　thought；　you're　even　stupider　than　you　look。


10

Behind　Owen；　Cavanaugh　was　still　making　noises；　but　the　volume　was　decreasing　now。　Nothing　from　Joe　Blakey；　who　was　maybe　ing　to　understand　the　implications　of　that　gauzy　red…gold　whirlwind；　which　they　might　or　might　not　have　managed　to　avoid。
　　　　'Everything　okay；　buck？'　Kurtz　asked。
　　　　'We　have　some　injuries；'　Owen　replied；　'but　basically　five…by。　Work　for　the　sweepers；　though；　it's　a　mess　back　there；'
　　　　Kurtz's　crowlike　laughter　came　back；　loud　in　Owen's　headphones。


11

'Freddy…'
　　　　'Yes；　boss。'
　　　　'We　need　to　keep　an　eye　on　Owen　Underhill。'
　　　　'Okay。'
　　　　'If　we　need　to　leave　suddenly　…　Imperial　Valley　…　Underhill　stays　here。'
　　　　Freddy　Johnson　said　nothing；　just　nodded　and　flew　the　helicopter。　Good　lad。　Knew　which　side　of　the　line　he　belonged　on；　unlike　some。
　　　　Kurtz　again　turned　to　him。
　　　　'Freddy；　get　us　back　to　that　godforsaken　little　store　and　don't　spare　the　horses。　I　want　to　be　there　at　least　fifteen　minutes　before　Owen　and　Joe　Blakey。　Twenty；　if　possible。'
　　　　'Yes；　boss。'
　　　　'And　I　want　a　secure　satellite　uplink　to　Cheyenne　Mountain。'
　　　　'You　got　it。　Take　about　five。'
　　　　'Make　it　three；　buck。　Make　it　three。'
　　　　Kurtz　settled　back　and　watched　the　pine　forest　flow　under　them。　So　much　forest；　so　much　wildlife；　and　not　a　few　human　beings　…　most　of　them　at　this　time　of　year　wearing　orange。　And　a　week　from　now　maybe　in　seventy…two　hours　…　it　would　all　be　as　dead　as　the　mountains　of　the　moon。　A　shame；　but　if　there　was　one　thing　of　which　there　was　no　shortage　in　Maine；　it　was　woods。
　　　　Kurtz　spun　the　cocked　hat　on　the　end　of　his　finger。　If　possible；　he　intended　to　see　Owen　Underhill　wearing　it　after　he　had　ceased　breathing。
　　　　'He　just　wanted　to　hear　if　any　of　it　had　changed；'　Kurtz　said　softly。
　　　　Freddy　Johnson；　who　knew　which　side　his　bread　was　buttered　on；　said　nothing。


12

Halfway　back　to　Gosselin's　and　Kurtz's　speedy　little　Kiowa　already　a　speck　that　might　or　might　not　still　be　there；　Owen's　eyes　fixed　on　Tony　Edward's　right　hand；　which　was　gripping　one　branch　of　the　Chinook's　Y…shaped　steering　yoke。　At　the　base　of　the　right　thumbnail；　fine　as　a　spill　of　sand；　was　a　curving　line　of　reddish…gold。　Owen　looked　down　at　his　own　hands；　inspecting　them　as　closely　as　Mrs。　Jankowski　had　during　Personal　Hygiene；　back　in　those　long…ago　days　when　the　Rapeloews　had　been　their　neighbors。　He　could　see　nothing　yet；　not　on　his；　but　Tony　had　his　mark；　and　Owen　guessed　his　own　would　e　in　time。
　　　　Baptists　the　Underhills　had　been；　and　Owen　was　familiar　with　the　story　of　Cain　and　Abel。　The　voice　of　thy　brother's　blood　cried　unto　me　from　the　ground；　God　had　said；　and　he　had　sent　Cain　out　to　live　in　the　land　of　Nod；　to　the　east　of　Eden。　With　the　low　men；　according　to　his　mother。　But　before　Cain　was　set　loose　to　wander；　God　had　put　a　mark　upon　him；　so　even　the　low　men　of　Nod　would　know　him　for　what　he　was。　And　now；　seeing　that　red…gold　thread　on　the　nail　of　Eddie's　thumb　and　looking　for　it　on　his　own　hands　and　wrists；　Owen　guessed　he　knew　what　color　Cain's　mark　had　been。

CHAPTER　ELEVEN

THE　EGGMAN'S　JOURNEY


1

Suicide；　Henry　had　discovered；　had　a　voice。　It　wanted　to　explain　itself　The　problem　was　that　it　didn't　speak　much　English；　mostly　it　lapsed　into　its　own　fractured　pidgin。　But　it　didn't　matter；　just　the　talking　seemed　to　be　enough。　Once　Henry　allowed　suicide　its　voice；　his　life　had　improved　enormously。　He　even　had　nights　when　he　slept　again　（not　a　lot　of　them；　but　enough）；　and　he　had　never　had　a　really　bad　day。
　　　　Until　today。
　　　　It　had　been　Jonesy's　body　on　the　Arctic　Cat；　but　the　thing　now　inside　his　old　friend　was　full　of　alien　images　and　alien　purpose。　Jonesy　might　also　still　be　inside　…　Henry　rather　thought　he　was　…　but　if　so；　he　was　now　too　deep；　too　small　and　powerless；　to　be　of　any　use。　Soon　Jonesy　would　be　gone　pletely；　and　that　would　likely　be　a　mercy。
　　　　Henry　had　been　afraid　the　thing　now　running　Jonesy　would　sense　him；　but　it　went　by　without　slowing。　Toward　Pete。　And　then　what？　Then　where？　Henry　didn't　want　to　think；　didn't　want　to　care。
　　　　At　last　he　started　back　to　camp　again；　not　because　there　was　anything　left　at　Hole　in　the　Wall　but　because　there　was　no　place　else　to　go。　As　he　reached　the　gate　with　its　one…word　sign　…　CLARENDON　…　he　spat　another　tooth　into　his　gloved　hand；　looked　at　it；　then　tossed　it　away。　The　snow　was　over；　but　the　sky　was　still　dark　and　he　thought　the　wind　was　picking　up　again。　Had　the　radio　said　something　about　a　storm　with　a　one…two　punch？　He　couldn't　remember；　wasn't　sure　it　mattered。
　　　　Somewhere　to　the　west　of　him；　a　huge　explosion　hammered　the　day。　Henry　looked　dully　in　that　direction；　but　could　see　nothing。　Something　had　either　crashed　or　exploded；　and　at　least　some　of　the　nagging　voices　in　his　head　had　stopped。　He　had　no　idea　if　those　things　were　related　or　not；　no　idea　if　he　should　care。　He　stepped　through　the　open　gate；　walking　on　the　packed　snow　marked　with　the　tread　of　the　departing　Arctic　Cat；　and　approached　Hole　in　the　Wall。
　　　　The　generator　brayed　steadily；　and　above　the　granite　slab　that　served　as　their　wele　mat；　the　door　stood　open。　Henry　paused　outside　for　a　moment；　examining　the　slab。　At　first　he　thought　there　was　blood　on　it；　but　blood；　either　fresh　or　dried；　did　not　have　that　unique　red…gold　sheen。　No；　he　was　looking　at　some　sort　of　organic　growth。　Moss　or　maybe　fungus。　And　something　else　。　。　。
　　　　Henry　tipped　his　head　back；　flared　his　nostrils；　and　sniffed　gently　…　he　had　a　memory；　both　clear　and　absurd；　of　being　in　Maurice's　a　month　ago　with　his　ex…wife；　smelling　the　wine　the　sommelier　had　just　poured；　seeing　Rhonda　there　across　the　table　and　thinking；　We　sniff　the　wine；　dogs　sniff　each　other's　assholes；　and　it　all　es　to　about　the　same。　Then；　in　a　flash；　the　memory　of　the　milk　running　down　his　father's　chin　had　e；　He　had　smiled　at　Rhonda；　she　had　smiled　back；　and　he　had　thought　what　a　relief　the　end　would　be；　and　if　it　were　done；　than　'twere　well　it　were　done　quickly。
　　　　What　he　smelled　now　wasn't　wine　but　a　marshy；　sulfurous　odor。　For　a　moment　he　couldn't　place　it；　then　it　came：　the　woman　who　had　wrecked　them。　The　smell　of　her　wrong　innards　was　here；　too。
　　　　Henry　stepped　onto　the　granite　slab；　aware　that　he　had　e　to　this　place　for　the　last　time；　feeling　the　weight　of　all　the　years　…　the　laughs；　the　talks；　the　beers；　the　occasional　lid　of　pot；　a　food…fight　in　'96　（or　maybe　it　had　been　'97）；　the　gunshots；　that　bitter　mixed　smell　of　powder　and　blood　that　meant　deer　season；　the　smell　of　death　and　friendship　and　childhood's　brilliance。
　　　　As　he　stood　there；　he　sniffed　again。　Much　stronger；　and　now　more　chemical　than　organic；　perhaps　because　there　was　so　much　of　it。　He　looked　inside。　There　was　more　of　that　fuzzy；　mildev；7ystuff　on　the　floor；　but　you　could　see　the　hardwood。　On　the　Navajo