sk.dreamcatcher-第63部分

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　all　over　his　body　tightened；　the　roots　of　the　stuff　digging　into　his　muscles　and　nerves。　The　boot　can　lit　under　the　collapsed　tin　roof　jerked　free　and　Pete；　still　screaming；　pulled　himself　up　into　a　fetal　position。　Fresh　blood　burst　from　his　mouth　and　nose。　When　he　screamed　again；　two　more　teeth　popped　out　of　his　mouth。
　　　　'Get　on；　Pete。'
　　　　Weeping；　holding　his　savaged　right　hand　to　his　chest；　Pete　tried　to　get　to　his　feet。　The　first　effort　was　a　failure；　he　sprawled　in　the　snow　again。　Mr　Gray　made　no　ment；　simply　sat　astride　the　idling　Arctic　Cat　and　watched。
　　　　Jonesy　felt　Pete's　pain　and　despair　and　wretched　fear。　The　fear　was　by　far　the　worst；　and　he　decided　to　take　a　risk。　　　　
　　　　Pete。
　　　　Only　a　whisper；　but　Pete　heard。　He　looked　up；　his　face　haggard　and　speckled　with　fungus　…　what　Mr　Gray　called　byrus。　When　Pete　licked　his　lips；　Jonesy　saw　it　was　growing　on　his　tongue；　too。　Outer…space　thrush。　Once　Pete　Moore　had　wanted　to　be　an　astronaut。　Once　he　had　stood　up　to　some　bigger　boys　on　behalf　of　someone　who　was　smaller　and　weaker。　He　deserved　better　than　this。
　　　　No　bounce；　no　play。
　　　　Pete　almost　smiled。　It　was　both　beautiful　and　heartbreaking。　This　time　he　made　it　to　his　feet　and　plodded　slowly　toward　the　snowmobile。
　　　　In　the　deserted　office　to　which　he　had　been　exiled；　Jonesy　saw　the　doorknob　be　in　to　twist　back　and　forth。　What　does　that　mean？　Mr　Gray　asked。　What　is　no　bounce；　no　play？　What　are　you　doing　in　there？　e　back　to　the　hospital　and　watch　TV　with　me；　why　don't　you？　How　did　you　get　in　there　to　begin　with？
　　　　It　was　Jonesy's　turn　not　to　answer；　and　he　did　so　with　great　pleasure。
　　　　I'll　get　in；　Mr　Gray　said。　When　I'm　ready；　I'll　e　in。　You　may　think　you　can　lock　the　door　against　me；　but　you're　wrong。
　　　　Jonesy　kept　silent　…　there　was　no　need　to　provoke　the　creature　currently　in　charge　of　his　body　…　but　he　didn't　think　he　was　wrong。　　　　
　On　the　other　hand；　he　didn't　dare　leave；　he　would　be　swallowed　up　if　he　tried。　He　was　just　a　kernel　in　a　cloud；　a　bit　of　undigested　food　in　an　alien　gut。
　　　　Best　to　keep　a　low　profile。


9

Pete　got　on　behind　Mr　Gray　and　put　his　arms　around　Jonesy's　waist。　Ten　minutes　later　they　motored　past　the　over…turned　Scout；　and　Jonesy　understood　what　had　made　Pete　and　Henry　so　late　back　from　the　store。　It　was　a　wonder　either　of　them　had　lived　through　it。　He　would　have　liked　a　longer　look；　but　Mr　Gray　didn't　slow；　just　went　on　with　the　Cat's　skis　bouncing　up　and　down；　riding　the　crown　of　the　road　between　the　two　snow…filled　ruts。
　　　　Three　miles　or　so　beyond　the　Scout；　they　topped　a　rise　and　Jonesy　saw　a　brilliant　hall　of　yellow…white　light　hanging　less　than　a　foot　above　the　road；　waiting　for　them。　It　looked　as　hot　as　the　flame　of　a　welder's　torch；　but　obviously　wasn't；　the　snow　just　inches　below　it　hadn't　melted。　It　was　almost　certainly　one　of　the　lights　he　and　Beaver　had　seen　playing　in　the　clouds；　above　the　fleeing　animals　ing　out　of　The　Gulch。
　　　　That's　right；　Mr　Gray　said。　What　your　people　call　a　flashlight。　This　is　one　of　the　last。　Perhaps　the　very　last。
　　　　Jonesy　said　nothing；　only　stared　out　the　window　of　his　office　cell。　He　could　feel　Pete's　arms　around　his　waist；　holding　on　mostly　by　instinct　now；　the　way　a　nearly　beaten　fighter　clinches　with　his　opponent　to　keep　from　hitting　the　canvas。　The　head　lying　against　his　back　was　as　heavy　as　a　stone。　Pete　was　a　culture…medium　for　the　byrus　now；　and　the　byrus　liked　him　fine；　the　world　was　cold　and　Pete　was　warm。　Mr　Gray　apparently　wanted　him　for　something　…　what；　Jonesy　had　no　idea。
　　　　The　flashlight　led　them　another　half　a　mile　or　so　up　the　road；　then　veered　into　the　woods。　It　slipped　in　between　two　big　pines　and　then　waited　for　them；　spinning　just　above　the　snow。　Jonesy　heard　Mr　Gray　instruct　Pete　to　hold　on　as　tight　as　he　could。
　　　　The　Arctic　Cat　bounced　and　growled　its　way　up　a　slight　incline；　its　skis　digging　into　the　snow；　then　splashing　it　aside。　Once　they　were　actually　under　the　forest　canopy　there　was　less　of　it；　in　some　places　none　at　all。　In　those　spots　the　snowmobile's　tread　clattered　angrily　on　the　frozen　ground；　which　was　mostly　rock　beneath　a　thin　cover　of　soil　and　fallen　needles。　They　were　headed　north　now。
　　　　Ten　minutes　later　they　bounced　hard　over　a　jut　of　granite　and　Pete　went　tumbling　off　the　back　with　a　low　cry。　Mr　Gray　let　go　of　the　snowmobile's　throttle。　The　flashlight　also　stopped；　spinning　above　the　snow。　Jonesy　thought　it　looked　dimmer　now。
　　　　'Get　up；'　Mr　Gray　said。　He　was　turned　around　on　the　saddle；　looking　back　at　Pete。
　　　　'I　can't；'　Pete　said。　'I'm　done；　fella。　I…'
　　　　Then　Pete　began　to　howl　and　thrash　on　the　ground　again；　feet　kicking；　his　hands　…　one　burned；　the　other　mangled　…　jerking。
　　　　Stop　it！　Jonesy　yelled。　You're　killing　him！
　　　　Mr　Gray　paid　him　no　attention　whatever；　just　remained　as　he　was；　swung　around　at　the　waist　and　watching　Pete　with　deadly；　emotionless　patience　as　the　byrus　tightened　and　pulled　at　Pete's　flesh。　At　last　Jonesy　felt　Mr　Gray　let　up。　Pete　got　groggily　to　his　feet。　There　was　a　fresh　cut　on　one　cheek；　and　already　it　was　swarming　with　byrus。　His　eyes　were　dazed　and　exhausted　and　swimming　with　tears。　He　got　back　on　the　snowmobile　and　his　hands　crept　around　Jonesy's　waist　once　more。
　　　　Hold　onto　my　coat；　Jonesy　whispered；　and　as　Mr　Gray　turned　forward　and　clapped　the　snowmobile　back　into　gear；　he　felt　Pete　take　hold。　No　bounce；　no　play；　right？
　　　　No　play；　Pete　agreed；　but　faintly。
　　　　Mr　Gray　paid　no　attention　this　time。　The　flashlight；　less　bright　but　still　speedy；　started　north　again　。　。　。　or　at　least　in　a　direction　Jonesy　assumed　was　north。　As　the　snowmobile　wove　its　way　around　trees；　thick　clumps　of　bushes；　and　knobs　of　rock；　his　sense　of　direction　pretty　much　gave　up。　From　behind　them　came　a　steady　crackle　of　gunfire。　It　sounded　as　though　someone　was　having　a　turkey…shoot。


10

About　an　hour　later；　Jonesy　finally　discovered　why　Mr　Gray　had　bothered　with　Pete。　That　was　when　the　flashlight；　which　had　dimmed　to　an　anemic　shadow　of　its　original　self；　finally　went　out。　It　disappeared　with　a　soft　plosive　sound　…　as　if　someone　had　popped　a　paper　sack。　Some　leftover　bit　of　detritus　fell　to　the　ground。
　　　　They　were　on　a　tree…lined　ridge　spang　in　the　middle　of　the　God…only…knows。　Ahead　of　them　was　a　snowy；　forested　valley；　on　its　far　side　were　eroded　hills　and　brush…tangled　brakes　where　not　a　single　light　shone。　And　to　finish　things　off；　the　day　was　fading　toward　dusk。
　　　　Another　fine　mess　you've　gotten　us　into；　Jonesy　thought；　but　he　sensed　no　dismay　on　Mr　Gray's　part。　Mr　Gray　stopped　the　snowmobile　by　releasing　the　throttle；　and　then　simply　sat　there。
　　　　North；　Mr　Gray　said。　Not　to　Jonesy。
　　　　Pete　answered　out　loud；　his　voice　weary　and　slow。　'How　am　I　supposed　to　know？　I　can't　even　see　where　the　sun's　going　down；　for　Christ's　sake。　One　of　my　eyes　is　all　fucked　up；　too。'
　　　　Mr　Gray　turned　Jonesy's　head　and　Jonesy　saw　that　Pete's　left　eye　was　gone。　The　lid　had　been　shoved　up　high；　giving　him　a　half…assed　look　of　surprise。　Growing　out　of　the　socket　was　a　small　jungle　of　byrus。　The　longest　strands　hung　down；　tickling　against　Pete's　stubbly　cheek。　More　strands　twined　through　his　thinning　hair　in　lush　red…gold　streaks。
　　　　You　know。
　　　　'Maybe　I　do；'　Pete　said。　'And　maybe　I　don't　want　to　point　you　there。'
　　　　Why　not？
　　　　'Because　I　doubt　if　what　you　want　is　healthy　for　the　rest　of　us；　fuckface；'　Pete　said；　and　Jonesy　felt　an　absurd　sense　of　pride。
　　　　Jonesy　saw　the　growth　in　Pete's　eyesocket　twitch。　Pete　screamed　and　clutched　at　his　face。　For　a　moment　…　brief　but　far　too　long　…Jonesy　fully　imagined　the　reddish…gold　tendrils　reaching　from　that　defunct　eye　into　Pete's　brain；　where　they　spread　like　strong　fingers　clutching　a　gray　sponge。
　　　　Go　on；　Pete；　tell　him！　Jonesy　cried。　For　Christ's　sake；　tell　him！
　　　　The　byrus　grew　still　again。　Pete's　hand　dropped　from　his　face；　which　was　now　deathly　pale　where　it　wasn't　reddish…gold。　'Where　are　you；　Jonesy？'　he　asked。　'Is　there　room　for　two？'
　　　　The　short　answer；　of　course；　was　no。　Jonesy　didn't　understand　what　had　happened　to　him；　but　knew　that　his　continued　survival　that　last　kernel　of　autonomy　…　somehow　depended　on　his　staying　right　where　he　was。　If　he　so　much　as　opened　the　door；　he　would　be　gone　for　good。
　　　　Pete　nodded。　'Didn't　think　so；'　he　said；　and　then　spoke　to　the　other。　'Just　don't　hurt　me　anymore；　fella。'
　　　　Mr　Gray　only　sat；　looking　at　Pete　with　Jonesy's　eyes　and　making　no　promises。
　　　　Pete　sighed；　then　raised　his　scorched　left　hand　and　extended　one　finger。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　began　to　tick　his　finger　back　and　forth；　back　and　forth。　And　as　he　did　it；　Jonesy　came　close　to　understanding　everything。　What　had　that　little　girl's　name　been？　Rinkenhauer；　wasn't　it？　Yes。　He　couldn't　remember　the　first　name；　but　a　clumsy　handle　like　Rinkenhauer　was　hard　to　forget。　She　had　also　gone　to　Mary　M。　Snowe；　aka　The　Retard　Academy；　although　by　then　Duddits　had　gone　on　to　Vocational。　And　Pete？　Pete　had　always　had　a　funny　trick　of　remembering　things；　but　after　Duddits…
　　　　The　words　came　back　to　Jonesy　as　he　crouched　in　his　dirty　little　cell；　looking　out　at　the　world　which　had　been　stolen　from　him　。　。　。　only　they　weren't　really　words　at　all；　only　those　open　vowel　sounds；　so　stra