sk.dreamcatcher-第84部分

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ernment…issue　pickup　（clipboard　of　papers　and　forms　on　the　passenger　side；　squawking　radio　beneath　the　dash）；　he　was　now　in　a　luxy　Dodge　Ram　with　a　club　cab；　gray　velour　seats；　and　roughly　as　many　controls　as　a　Learjet。　On　the　glove　partment　was　a　sticker　reading　I　？？my　BORDER；　COLLIE。　The　border　collie　in　question　was　still　present　and　accounted　for；　asleep　in　the　passenger…side　footwell　with　its　tail　curled　neatly　around　it。　It　was　a　male　named　Lad。　Jonesy　sensed　that　he　could　access　the　name　and　the　fate　of　Lad's　master；　but　why　would　he　want　to？　Somewhere　north　of　their　present　position；　Janas's　Army　truck　was　now　off　the　road；　and　the　driver　of　this　one　would　be　lying　nearby。　Jonesy　had　no　idea　why　the　dog　had　been　spared。
　　　　Then　Lad　lifted　his　tail　and　farted；　and　Jonesy　did。


5

He　discovered　that　by　looking　out　the　Tracker　Brothers'　office　window　and　concentrating；　he　could　look　out　through　his　own　eyes。　The　snow　was　ing　down　more　heavily　than　ever；　but　like　the　Army　truck；　the　Dodge　was　equipped　with　four…wheel　drive；　and　it　poked　along　steadily　enough。　Going　the　other　way；　north　toward　Jefferson　Tract；　was　a　chain　of　headlights　set　high　off　the　road：　Army　convoy　trucks。　Then；　ahead　on　this　side；　a　reflectorized　sign　…　white　letters；　green　background　…　loomed　out　of　the　flying　Snow。　DERRY　NEXT　5　EXITS。
　　　　The　city　plows　had　been　out；　and　although　there　was　hardly　any　traffic　（there　wouldn't　have　been　much　at　this　hour　even　on　a　clear　night）；　the　turnpike　was　in　passable　shape。　Mr　Gray　increased　the　Ram's　speed　to　forty　miles　an　hour。　They　passed　three　exits　Jonesy　knew　well　from　his　childhood　（KANSAS　STREET；　AIRPORT；　UPMILE　HILL/STRAWFORD　PARK）　then　slowed。
　　　　Suddenly　Jonesy　thought　he　understood。
　　　　He　looked　at　the　boxes　he'd　dragged　in　here；　most　marked　DUDDITS；　a　few　marked　DERRY。　The　latter　ones　he'd　taken　as　an　afterthought。　Mr　Gray　thought　he　still　had　the　memories　he　needed　…　the　information　he　needed　…　but　if　Jonesy　was　right　about　where　they　were　going　（and　it　made　perfect　sense）；　Mr　Gray　was　in　for　a　surprise。　Jonesy　didn't　know　whether　to　be　glad　or　afraid；　and　found　he　was　both。　　　　
　　　　Here　was　a　green　sign　reading　EXIT　25　…　WITCHAM　STREET。　His　hand　flicked　on　the　Ram's　turnsignal。
　　　　At　the　top　of　the　ramp；　he　turned　left　onto　Witcham；　then　left　again；　half　a　mile　later；　onto　Carter　Street。　Carter　went　up　at　a　steep　angle；　heading　back　toward　Upmile　Hill　and　Kansas　Street　on　the　other　side　of　what　had　once　been　a　high；　wooded　ridge　and　the　site　of　a　thriving　Micmac　Indian　village。　The　street　hadn't　been　plowed　in　several　hours；　but　the　four…wheel　drive　was　up　to　the　task。　The　Ram　threaded　its　way　among　the　snow…covered　humps　on　either　side　…　cars　that　had　been　street…parked　in　defiance　of　municipal　snow…emergency　regulations。
　　　　Halfway　up　Mr　Gray　turned　again；　this　time　onto　an　even　narrower　track　called　Carter　Lookout。　The　Ram　skidded；　its　rear　end　fishtailing。　Lad　looked　up　briefly；　whined；　then　put　his　nose　back　down　on　the　floormat　as　the　tires　took　hold；　biting　into　the　snow　and　puffing　the　Ram　the　rest　of　the　way　up。
　　　　Jonesy　stood　at　his　window　on　the　world；　fascinated；　waiting　for　Mr　Gray　to　discover　。　。　。　well；　to　discover。
　　　　At　first　Mr　Gray　wasn't　dismayed　when　the　Ram's　high　beams　showed　nothing　at　the　crest　but　more　swirling　snow。　He　was　confident　he'd　see　it　in　a　few　seconds；　of　course　he　would　。　。　。　just　a　few　more　seconds　and　he'd　see　the　big　white　tower　which　stood　here　overlooking　the　drop　to　Kansas　Street；　the　tower　with　the　windows　marching　around　it　in　a　rising　spiral。　In　just　a　few　more　seconds　。　。　。
　　　　Except　now　there　were　no　more　seconds。　The　Ram　had　chewed　its　way　to　the　top　of　what　had　once　been　called　Standpipe　Hill。　Here　Carter　Lookout　…　and　three　or　four　other　similar　little　lanes　…　ended　in　a　large　open　circle。　They　had　e　to　the　highest；　most　open　spot　in　Derry。　The　wind　howled　like　a　banshee；　a　steady　fifty　miles　an　hour　with　gusts　up　to　seventy　and　even　eighty。　In　the　Ram's　high　beams；　the　snow　flew　horizontally；　a　storm　of　daggers。
　　　　Mr　Gray　sat　motionless。　Jonesy's　hands　slid　off　the　wheel　and　clumped　to　either　side　of　Jonesy's　body　like　birds　shot　out　of　the　sky。　At　last　he　muttered；　'Where　is　it？'
　　　　His　left　hand　rose；　fumbled　at　the　doorhandle；　and　at　last　pulled　it　up。　He　swung　a　leg　out；　then　fell　to　Jonesy's　knees　in　a　snowdrift　as　the　howling　wind　snatched　the　door　out　of　his　hand。　He　got　up　again　and　floundered　around　to　the　front　of　the　truck；　his　jacket　rippling　around　him　and　the　legs　of　his　jeans　snapping　like　sails　in　a　gale。　The　wind…chill　was　well　below　zero　（in　the　Tracker　Brothers'　office；　the　temperature　went　from　cool　to　cold　in　the　space　of　a　few　seconds）；　but　the　redblack　cloud　which　now　inhabited　most　of　Jonesy's　brain　and　drove　Jonesy's　body　could　not　have　cared　less。
　　　　Where　is　it？'　Mr　Gray　screamed　into　the　howling　mouth　of　the　storm。　Where's　the　fucking　STANDPIPE？'
　　　　　There　was　no　need　for　Jonesy　to　shout；　storm　or　no　storm；　Mr　Gray　would　hear　even　a　whisper。
　　　　'Ha…ha；　Mr　Gray；'　he　said。　'Hardy…fucking…har。　Looks　like　the　joke's　on　you。　The　Standpipe's　been　gone　since　1985。'


6

Jonesy　thought　that　if　Mr　Gray　had　remained　still；　he　would　have　done　a　full…fledged　pre…schooler's　tantrum；　perhaps　right　down　to　the　rolling　around　in　the　snow　and　the　kicking　of　the　feet；　in　spite　of　his　best　efforts　not　to；　Mr　Gray　was　bingeing　on　Jonesy's　emotional　chemistry　set；　as　helpless　to　stop　now　that　he　had　started　as　an　alcoholic　with　a　key　to　McDougal's　Bar。
　　　　Instead　of　throwing　a　fit　or　having　a　snit；　he　thrust　Jonesy's　body　across　the　bald　top　of　the　hill　and　toward　the　squat　stone　pedestal　that　stood　where　he　had　expected　to　find　the　storage　facility　for　the　city's　drinking　water：　seven　hundred　thousand　gallons　of　it。　He　fell　in　the　snow；　floundered　back　up；　limped　forward　on　Jonesy's　bad　hip；　fell　again　and　got　up　again；　all　the　time　spitting　Beaver's　litany　of　childish　curses　into　the　gale：　doodlyfuck；　kiss　my　bender；　munch　my　meat；　bite　my　bag；　shit　in　your　fuckin　hat　and　wear　it　backward；　Bruce。　ing　from　Beaver　（or　Henry；　or　Pete）；　these　had　always　been　amusing。　Here；　on　this　deserted　hill；　screamed　into　the　teeth　of　the　storm　by　this　lunging；　falling　monster　that　looked　like　a　human　being；　they　were　awful。
　　　　He；　it；　whatever　Mr　Gray　was；　at　last　reached　the　pedestal；　which　stood　out　clearly　enough　in　the　glow　cast　by　the　Ram's　headlights。　It　had　been　built　to　a　child's　height；　about　five　feet；　and　of　the　plain　rock　which　had　shaped　so　many　New　England　stone　walls。　On　top　were　two　figures　cast　in　bronze；　a　boy　and　a　girl　with　their　hands　linked　and　their　heads　lowered；　as　if　in　prayer　or　in　grief。
　　　　The　pedestal　was　drifted　to　most　of　its　height　in　snow；　but　the　top　of　the　plaque　screwed　to　the　front　was　visible。　Mr　Gray　fell　to　Jonesy's　knees；　scraped　snow　away；　and　read　this：

TO　THOSE　LOST　IN　THE　STORM
MAY　31；　1985
AND　TO　THE　CHILDREN
ALL　THE　CHILDREN
LOVE　FROM　BILL；　BEN；　BEV；　EDDIE；　RICHIE；　STAN；　MIKE
THE　LOSERS'　CLUB
　　　　
　　　　Spray…painted　across　it　jagged　red　letters；　also　perfectly　visible　in　the　truck's　headlights；　was　this　further　message：


7

Mr　Gray　knelt　looking　at　this　for　nearly　five　minutes；　ignoring　the　creeping　numbness　in　Jonesy's　extremities。　（And　why　would　he　take　care？　Jonesy　was　just　your　basic　rental　job；　drive　it　as　hard　as　you　want　and　butt　out　your　cigarettes　on　the　floormat。）　He　was　trying　to　make　sense　of　it。　Storm？　Children？　Losers？　Who　or　what　was　Pennywise？　Most　of　all；　where　was　the　Standpipe；　which　Jonesy's　memories　had　insisted　was　here？
　　　　At　last　he　got　up；　limped　back　to　the　truck；　got　in；　and　turned　up　the　heater。　In　the　blast　of　hot　air；　Jonesy's　body　began　to　shake。　Soon　enough；　Mr　Gray　was　back　at　the　locked　door　of　the　office；　demanding　an　explanation。
　　　　'Why　do　you　sound　so　angry？'　Jonesy　asked　mildly；　but　he　was　smiling。　Could　Mr　Gray　sense　that？　'Did　you　expect　me　to　help　you？　e　on；　pal　…　I　don't　know　the　specifics；　but　I　have　a　pretty　good　idea　what　the　overall　plan　is：　twenty　years　from　now　and　the　whole　planet　is　one　big　redheaded　ball；　right？　No　more　hole　in　the　ozone　layer；　but　no　more　people；　either。'
　　　　'Don't　you　smartass　me！　Don't　you　dare！'
　　　　Jonesy　fought　back　the　temptation　to　taunt　Mr　Gray　into　another　tantrum。　He　didn't　believe　his　unwele　guest　would　be　capable　of　huffing　down　the　door　between　them　no　matter　how　angry　he　became；　but　what　sense　was　there　in　putting　that　idea　to　the　test？　And　besides；　Jonesy　was　emotionally　exhausted；　his　nerves　jumping　and　his　mouth　full　of　a　burnt…copper　taste。
　　　　'How　can　it　not　be　here？'
　　　　Mr　Gray　brought　one　hand　down　on　the　center　of　the　steering　wheel。　The　horn　honked。　Lad　the　border　collie　raised　his　head　and　looked　at　the　man　behind　the　wheel　with　large；　nervous　eyes。　'You　can't　lie　to　me！　I　have　your　memories！'
　　　　'Well　。　。　。　I　did　get　a　few。　Remember？'
　　　　'Which　ones？　Tell　me。'
　　　　'Why　should　I？'　Jonesy　asked。　'What'll　you　do　for　me？'
　　　　Mr　Gray　fell　silent。　Jonesy　felt　him　accessing　various　files。　Then；　suddenly；　smells　began　to　waft　into　the　room　from　under　the　door　and　through　the　heating　and　cooling　vent。　They　were　his　favorite　aromas：　popcorn；　coffee；　his　m