sk.dreamcatcher-第81部分

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r　Cheyenne　Mountain　send　out　a　new　cleaner；　some　Kurtz　clone　that'll　pick　up　where　Kurtz　left　off。　Or　maybe　they　just　elect　Kate　to　the　job。　God　knows　she's　crazy　enough。　The　people　in　the　barn　might　get　twelve　additional　hours　to　stew　in　their　own　juice；　but　in　the　end　they'll　still　burn。　The　only　difference　is　that；　instead　of　getting　a　chance　to　go　charging　gaily　through　the　snowstorm　with　me；　handsome；　you'll　burn　with　the　rest　of　them。　Your　pal；　meanwhile　…　this　guy　Jonesy　…　he'll　be　off　to　。　。　。　to　where？'
　　　　'That's　something　it　might　be　prudent　for　me　to　keep　to　myself；　for　the　time　being。'
　　　　Owen　nonetheless　probed　for　it　with　such　telepathy　as　he　possessed。　For　a　moment　he　caught　a　blurred　and　perplexing　vision　…　a　tall　white　building　in　the　snow；　cylindrical；　like　a　barn　silo　and　then　it　was　gone；　replaced　by　the　image　of　a　white　horse　that　looked　almost　like　a　unicorn　running　past　a　sign。　On　the　sign　were　red　letters　reading　BANBURY　CROSS　under　a　pointing　arrow。
　　　　He　grunted　in　amusement　and　exasperation。　'You're　jamming　me。'
　　　　'You　can　think　of　it　that　way。　Or　you　can　think　of　it　as　teaching　you　a　technique　you　better　learn　if　you'd　like　to　keep　our　conversation　a　secret。'
　　　　'Uh…huh。'　Owen　wasn't　entirely　displeased　with　what　had　just　happened。　For　one　thing；　a　jamming　technique　would　be　a　very　good　thing　to　have。　For　another；　Henry　did　know　where　his　infected　friend　…　call　him　Typhoid　Jonesy　…　was　going。　Owen　had　seen　a　brief　picture　of　it　in　Henry's　head。
　　　　'Henry；　I　want　you　to　listen　to　me　now。'
　　　　'All　right。'
　　　　'Here's　the　simplest；　safest　thing　we　can　do；　you　and　I。　First；　if　time　isn't　an　utterly　crucial　factor；　we　both　need　to　get　some　sleep。'
　　　　'I　can　buy　that。　I'm　next　door　to　dead。'
　　　　'Then；　around　three　o'clock；　I　can　start　to　move　and　shake。　This　installation　is　going　to　be　on　high　alert　till　the　time　when　there　isn't　an　installation　here　any　longer；　but　if　Big　Brother's　eyeball　ever　glazes　over　a　little；　it's　apt　to　be　between　four　and　six　A。M。　I'll　make　a　diversion；　and　I　can　short　out　the　fence　…　that's　the　easiest　part；　actually。　I　can　be　here　with　a　Sno…Cat　five　minutes　after　the　shit　hits　the　fan…'
　　　　Telepathy　had　certain　shorthand　advantages　to　verbal　munication；　Owen　was　discovering。　He　sent　Henry　the　image　of　a　burning　MH…6　Little　Bird　helicopter　and　soldiers　running　toward　it　even　as　he　continued　to　speak。
　　　　'…and　off　we　go。'
　　　　'Leaving　Kurtz　with　a　barnful　of　innocent　civilians　he　plans　to　turn　into　crispy　critters。　Not　to　mention　Blue　Group。　What's　that；　a　couple…three　hundred　more？'
　　　　Owen；　who　had　been　full…time　military　since　the　age　of　nineteen　and　one　of　Kurtz's　eraserheads　for　the　last　eight　years；　sent　two　hard　words　along　the　mental　conduit　the　two　of　them　had　established：　Acceptable　losses。
　　　　Behind　the　dirty　glass；　the　vague　shape　that　was　Henry　Devlin　stirred；　then　stood。
　　　　No；　he　sent　back。


8

No？　What　do　you　mean；　no？
　　　　No。　That's　what　I　mean。
　　　　Do　you　have　a　better　idea？
　　　　And　Owen　realized；　to　his　extreme　horror；　that　Henry　thought　he　did。　Fragments　of　that　idea　…　it　would　be　far　too　generous　to　call　it　a　plan　…　shot　through　Owen's　mind　like　the　brightly　fragmented　tail　of　a　et。　It　took　his　breath　away。　The　cigarette　dropped　unnoticed　from　between　his　fingers　and　zipped　away　on　the　wind。
　　　　You're　nuts。
　　　　No；　I'm　not。　We　need　a　diversion　in　order　to　get　away；　you　already　know　that。　This　is　a　diversion。
　　　　They'll　be　killed　anyway！
　　　　Some　will。　Maybe　even　most　of　them。　But　it's　a　chance。　What　chance　will　they　have　in　a　burning　barn？
　　　　Out　loud；　Henry　said：　'And　there's　Kurtz。　If　he's　got　a　couple　of　hundred　escapees　to　worry　about　…　most　of　whom　who'd　be　happy　to　tell　the　first　reporters　they　came　across　that　the　panic…stricken　U。S。　government　had　sanctioned　a　My　Lai　massacre　right　here　on　American　soil　…　he's　going　to　be　a　lot　less　concerned　about　us。'
　　　　You　don't　know　Abe　Kurtz；　Owen　thought。　You　don't　know　about　the　Kurtz　Line。　Of　course；　neither　had　he。　Not　really。　Not　until　today。
　　　　Yet　Henry's　proposal　made　a　lunatic　kind　of　sense。　And　it　contained　at　least　a　measure　of　atonement。　As　this　endless　November　fourteenth　marched　toward　midnight　and　as　odds　of　living　until　the　end　of　the　week　grew　longer；　Owen　was　not　surprised　to　find　that　the　idea　of　atonement　had　its　attractions。
　　　　'Henry。'
　　　　'Yes；　Owen。　I'm　here。'
　　　　'I've　always　felt　badly　about　what　I　did　in　the　Rapeloews'　house　that　day。'
　　　　'I　know。'
　　　　'And　yet　I've　done　it　again　and　again。　How　tucked　up　is　that？'　Henry；　an　excellent　psychiatrist　even　after　his　thoughts　had　turned　to　suicide；　said　nothing。　Fucked　up　was　normal　human　behavior。　Sad　but　true。
　　　　'All　right；'　Owen　said　at　last。　'You　can　buy　the　house；　but　I'm　going　to　furnish　it。　Deal？'
　　　　'Deal；'　Henry　replied　at　once。
　　　　'Can　you　really　teach　me　that　jamming　technique？　Because　I　think　I　may　need　it。'
　　　　'I'm　pretty　sure　I　can。'
　　　　'All　right。　Listen。'　Owen　talked　for　the　next　three　minutes；　sometimes　out　loud；　sometimes　mind　to　mind。　The　two　men　had　reached　a　point　where　they　no　longer　differentiated　between　the　modes　of　munication；　thoughts　and　words　had　bee　one。


　　　　
CHAPTER　SIXTEEN

DERRY


1

It's　hot　in　Gosselin's　…　it's　so　hot！　The　sweat　pops　out　on　Jonesy's　face　almost　immediately；　and　by　the　time　the　four　of　them　get　to　the　pay　phone　（which　is　near　the　woodstove；　wouldn't　you　know　it）；　it's　rolling　down　his　cheeks；　and　his　armpits　feel　like　jungle　growth　after　a　heavy　rain　。　。　。　not　that　he　has　all　that　much　growth　there　yet；　not　at　fourteen。　Don't　you　wish；　as　Pete　likes　to　say。
　　　　So　it's　hot；　and　he's　still　partly　in　the　grip　of　the　dream；　which　hasn't　faded　the　way　bad　dreams　usually　do　（he　can　still　smell　gasoline　and　burning　rubber；　can　still　see　Henry　holding　that　moccasin　。　。　。　and　the　head；　he　can　still　see　Richie　Grenadeau's　awful　severed　head）；　and　then　the　operator　makes　things　worse　by　being　a　bitch。　When　Jonesy　gives　her　the　Cavells'　number；　which　they　call　frequently　to　ask　if　they　can　e　over　（Roberta　and　Alfie　always　say　yes；　but　it　is　only　polite　to　ask　permission；　they　have　all　been　taught　that　at　home）；　the　operator　asks：　'Do　your　parents　know　you're　calling　long…distance？'　The　words　e　out　not　in　a　Yankee　drawl　but　in　the　slightly　Frenchified　tones　of　someone　who　grew　up　in　this　part　of　the　world；　where　Letourneau　and　Bissonette　are　more　mon　than　Smith　or　Jones。　The　tightwad　French；　Pete's　Dad　calls　them。　And　now　he's　got　one　on　the　telephone；　God　help　him。
　　　　'They　let　me　make　toll　calls　if　I　pay　the　charges；'　Jonesy　says。　And　boy；　he　should　have　known　that　he　would　end　up　being　the　one　to　actually　make　it。　He　rakes　down　the　zipper　of　his　jacket。　God；　but　it's　boiling　in　here！　How　those　old　geezers　can　sit　around　the　stove　like　they're　doing　is　more　than　Jonesy　can　understand。　His　own　friends　are　pressing　in　close　around　him；　which　is　probably　understandable　…　they　want　to　know　how　things　go　…　but　still；　Jonesy　wishes　they　would　step　back　a　little。　Having　them　so　close　makes　him　feel　even　hotter。
　　　　'And　if　I　were　to　call　them；　mon　fils；　your　mère　et　père；　d'ey　say　the　same？'
　　　　'Sure；'　Jonesy　says。　Sweat　runs　into　one　of　his　eyes；　stinging；　and　he　wipes　it　away　like　a　tear。　'My　father's　at　work；　but　my　Mom　should　be　home。　Nine…four…nine；　six…six…five…eight。　Only　I　wish　you'd　make　it　quick；　because…'
　　　　'I'll　jus'　ring　on　your　party；'　she　says；　sounding　disappointed。　Jonesy　slips　out　of　his　coat；　switching　the　phone　from　one　ear　to　the　other　in　order　to　acplish　this；　and　lets　it　puddle　around　his　feet。　The　others　are　still　wearing　theirs；　Beav；　in　fact；　hasn't　even　unzipped　his　Fonzie　Jacket。　How　they　can　stand　it　is　beyond　Jonesy。　Even　the　smells　are　getting　to　him：　Musterole　and　beans　and　floor…oil　and　coffee　and　brine　from　the　pickle…barrel。　Usually　he　likes　the　smells　in　Gosselin's；　but　today　they　make　Jonesy　feel　like　blowing　chunks。
　　　　Connections　click　in　his　ear。　So　slow。　His　friends　pushing　in　too　close　to　the　pay　phone　on　the　back　wall；　crowding　him。　Two　or　three　aisles　over；　Lamar　is　looking　fixedly　at　the　cereal　shelf　and　rubbing　his　forehead　like　a　man　with　a　severe　headache。　Considering　how　much　beer　he　put　away　last　night；　Jonesy　thinks；　a　headache　would　be　natural。　He's　ing　down　with　a　headache　himself；　one　that　beer　has　nothing　to　do　with；　it's　just　so　gosh…damn　hot　in　h…
　　　　He　straightens　up　a　little。　'Ringing；'　he　says　to　his　friends；　and　immediately　wishes　he'd　kept　his　mouth　shut；　because　they　lean　in　closer　than　ever。　Pete's　breath　is　fuckin　awful；　and　Jonesy　thinks；　What　do　you　do；　Petesky？　Brush　em　once　a　year；　whether　they　need　it　or　not？
　　　　The　phone　is　picked　up　on　the　third　ring。　'Yes；　hello？'　It's　Roberta；　but　sounding　distracted　and　upset　rather　than　cheery；　as　she　usually　does。　Not　that　it's　very　hard　to　figure　out　why；　in　the　background　he　can　hear　Duddits　bawling。　Jonesy　knows　that　Alfie　and　Roberta　don't　feel　that　crying　the　way　Jonesy　and　his　friends　do　…　they　are　grownups。　But　they　are　also　his　parents；　they　feel　some　of　it；　and　he　doubts　if　this　has　exactly　been　Mrs　Cavell's　favorite　morning。
　　　　Christ；　how　can　it　be　so　hot　in　here'；　What　did　they　load　that　fuckin　w