sk.dreamcatcher-第91部分

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r　fried　or　hooked　like　fish　on　the　oversized　bundles　of　barbs。　Moments　later　the　alarm's　honking；　pulsing　bray　was　joined　by　a　whooping　siren；　the　General　Quarters　alert　which　was　sometimes　referred　to　as　Situation　Triple　Six；　the　end　of　the　world。　In　the　plastic　Porta…Potty　sentry　huts；　surprised　and　frightened　faces　peered　out　dazedly。
　　　　'The　barn！'　someone　shouted。　'Collapse　in　on　the　barn！　It's　an　escape！'
　　　　The　sentries　trotted　out　into　the　snow；　many　of　them　bootless；　moving　along　the　outside　of　the　fence；　unaware　that　it　had　been　shorted　out　by　the　weight　of　more　than　eighty　kamikaze　deerhunters；　all　screaming　NOW　at　the　top　of　their　lungs；　even　as　they　jittered　and　fried　and　died。
　　　　No　one　noticed　the　single　man　…　tall；　skinny；　wearing　a　pair　of　old…fashioned　horn…rim　specs　…　who　left　from　the　back　of　the　barn　and　set　out　diagonally　across　the　drifts　filling　the　paddock。　Although　Henry　could　neither　see　nor　sense　anyone　paying　attention　to　him；　he　began　to　run。　He　felt　horribly　exposed　under　the　brilliant　lights；　and　the　cacophony　of　the　siren　and　the　perimeter　alarm　made　him　feel　panicky　and　half…crazy　。　。　。　made　him　feel　the　way　Duddits's　crying　had；　that　day　behind　Tracker　Brothers。
　　　　He　hoped　to　God　Underhill　was　waiting　for　him。　He　couldn't　tell；　the　snow　was　too　thick　to　see　the　far　end　of　the　paddock；　but　he　would　be　there　soon　enough　and　then　he　would　know。


9

Kurtz　had　everything　on　but　one　boot　when　the　alarm　went　off　and　the　emergency　lights　went　on；　flooding　this　godforsaken　piece　of　ground　with　even　more　glare。　He　felt　no　surprise；　no　dismay；　only　a　mixture　of　relief　and　chagrin。　Relief　that　whatever　had　been　chewing　on　his　nerve…endings　was　now　out　in　the　open。　Chagrin　that　this　fucking　mess　hadn't　held　off　for　another　two　hours。　Another　two　hours　and　he　could　have　balanced　the　books　on　the　whole　deal。
　　　　He　jerked　open　the　door　of　the　Winnebago　with　his　right　hand；　still　holding　his　other　boot　in　his　left。　A　savage　roaring　came　from　the　barn；　the　sort　of　warrior's　cry　to　which　his　heart　responded　in　spite　of　everything。　The　gale…force　wind　thinned　it　a　little；　but　not　much；　they　were　all　in　it　together；　it　seemed。　From　somewhere　in　their　well…fed；　timorous；　it…can't…happen…here　ranks；　a　Spartacus　had　arisen　…　who　would　have　thunk　it？
　　　　It's　the　goddam　telepathy；　he　thought。　His　instincts；　always　superb；　told　him　this　was　serious　trouble；　that　he　was　watching　an　operation　go　tits…up　on　a　truly　grand　scale；　but　he　was　smiling　in　spite　of　that。　Got　to　be　the　goddam　telepathy。　They　smelled　out　what　was　ing　。　。　。　and　someone　decided　to　do　something　about　it。
　　　　As　he　watched；　a　motley　mob　of　men；　most　in　parkas　and　orange　hats；　came　moiling　through　the　sagging；　shattered　barn　doors。　One　fell　on　a　splintered　board　and　was　impaled　like　a　vampire。　Some　stumbled　in　the　snow　and　were　trampled　under。　AR　the　lights　were　on　now。　Kurtz　felt　like　a　man　with　a　ringside　seat　at　a　prizefight。　He　could　see　everything。
　　　　Wings　of　escapees；　fifty　or　sixty　in　each　plement；　peeled　off　as　neatly　as　squads　in　a　drill…team　and　charged　at　the　fence　on　either　side　of　the　ratty　little　store。　Either　they　didn't　know　there　was　a　lethal　dose　of　electricity　coursing　through　the　smoothwire　or　they　didn't　care。　The　rest　of　them；　the　main　body；　charged　directly　at　the　back　of　the　store。　That　was　the　weakest　point　in　the　perimeter；　but　it　didn't　matter。　Kurtz　thought　it　was　all　going　to　go。
　　　　Never　in　any　of　his　contingency　plans　had　he　so　much　as　considered　this　scenario：　two　or　three　hundred　overweight　November　warriors　mounting　a　no…guts…no…glory　banzai　charge。　He　had　never　expected　them　to　do　anything　but　stay　put；　clamoring　for　due　process　right　up　to　the　point　where　they　were　barbecued。
　　　　'Not　bad；　boys；'　Kurtz　said。　He　smelled　something　else　starting　to　burn　…　probably　his　goddam　career　…　but　the　end　had　been　ing　anyway；　and　he'd　picked　one　hell　of　an　operation　to　go　out　on；　hadn't　he？　As　far　as　Kurtz　was　concerned；　the　little　gray　men　from　space　were　strictly　secondary。　If　he　ran　the　news；　the　headline　above　the　fold　would　read：　SURPRISE！　NEW…AGE　AMERICANS　SHOW　SOME　BACKBONE！　Outstanding。　It　was　almost　a　shame　to　cut　them　down。
　　　　The　General　Quarters　siren　rose　and　fell　in　the　snowy　night。　The　first　wave　of　men　hit　the　back　of　the　store。　Kurtz　could　almost　see　the　whole　place　shudder。
　　　　'That　goddam　telepathy；'　Kurtz　said；　grinning。　He　could　see　his　guys　responding；　the　first　wave　from　the　sentry　huts；　more　ing　from　the　motor…pool；　the　missary；　and　the　semi　trailer…boxes　that　were　serving　as　makeshift　barracks。　Then　the　smile　on　Kurtz's　face　began　to　fade；　replaced　by　an　expression　of　puzzlement。　'Shoot　them；'　he　said。　'Why　don't　you　shoot　them？'
　　　　Some　were　firing；　but　not　enough　…　nowhere　near　enough。　Kurtz　thought　he　smelled　panic。　His　men　weren't　shooting　because　they　had　gone　chickenshit。　Or　because　they　knew　they　were　next。
　　　　'The　goddam　telepathy；'　he　said　again；　and　suddenly　automatic　rifle　fire　began　inside　the　store。　The　windows　of　the　office　where　he　and　Owen　Underhill　had　had　their　original　conference　lit　up　in　brilliant　stutterflashes　of　light。　Two　of　them　blew　out。　A　man　attempted　to　exit　the　second　of　these；　and　Kurtz　had　time　to　recognize　George　Udall　before　George　was　seized　by　the　legs　and　jerked　back　inside。
　　　　The　guys　in　the　office　were　fighting；　at　least；　but　of　course　they　would；　in　there　they　were　fighting　for　their　lives。　The　laddie…bucks　who　had　e　running　were；　for　the　most　part；　still　running。　Kurtz　thought　about　dropping　his　boot　and　grabbing　his　nine…millimeter。　Shooting　a　few　skedaddlers。　Bagging　his　limit；　in　fact。　It　was　falling　down　all　around　him；　why　not？
　　　　Underhill；　that　was　why　not。　Owen　Underhill　had　played　a　part　in　this　snafu。　Kurtz　knew　that　as　well　as　he　knew　his　own　name。　This　stank　of　line…crossing；　and　crossing　the　line　was　an　Owen　Underhill　specialty。
　　　　More　shooting　fi7om　Gosselin's　office　screams　of　pain　。　。　。　then　triumphant　howls。　The　puter…savvy；　Evian…drinking；　salad…eating　Goths　had　taken　their　objective。　Kurtz　slammed　the　Winnebago's　door　on　the　scene　and　hurried　back　to　the　bedroom　to　call　Freddy　Johnson。　He　was　still　carrying　his　boot。


10

Cambry　was　on　his　knees　behind　Old　Man　Gosselin's　desk　when　the　first　wave　of　prisoners　smashed　its　way　in。　He　was　opening　drawers；　looking　frantically　for　a　gun。　The　fact　that　he　didn't　find　one　very　likely　saved　his　life。
　　　　'NOW！　NOW！　NOW！'　the　oning　prisoners　screamed。
　　　　There　was　a　monstrous　thud　against　the　back　of　the　store；　as　if　a　truck　had　driven　into　it。　From　outside；　Cambry　could　hear　a　juicy　crackling　sound　as　the　first　detainees　hit　the　fence。　The　lights　in　the　office　began　to　flicker。
　　　　'Stand　together；　men！'　Danny　O'Brian　cried。　'For　the　love　of　Christ；　stand　toge…'
　　　　The　rear　door　came　off　its　hinges　with　so　much　force　that　it　actually　skittered　backward　across　the　room；　shielding　the　first　of　the　screaming　men　who　clogged　the　doorway。　Cambry　ducked；　hands　laced　over　the　back　of　his　head；　as　the　door　fell　on　the　desk　at　an　angle　with　him　beneath　it；　in　the　kneehole。
　　　　The　sound　of　rifles　on　full　auto　was　deafening　in　the　tiny　room；　drowning　out　even　the　screams　of　the　wounded；　but　Cambry　understood　that　not　all　of　them　were　firing。　Trezewski；　Udall；　and　O'Brian　were；　but　Coleman；　Everett；　and　Ray　Parsons　were　only　standing　there　with　their　weapons　held　to　their　chests　and　dazed　expressions　on　their　faces。
　　　　From　his　accidental　shelter；　Gene　Cambry　saw　the　prisoners　charge　across　the　room；　saw　the　first　of　them　caught　by　the　bullets　and　thrown　like　scarecrows；　saw　their　blood　splash　across　the　walls　and　the　bean…supper　posters　and　the　OSHA　notices。　He　saw　George　Udall　throw　his　gun　at　two　beefy　young　men　in　orange；　then　whirl　and　lunge　at　one　of　the　windows。　George　got　halfway　out　and　was　then　yanked　back；　a　man　with　Ripley　growing　on　his　cheek　like　a　birthmark　sank　his　teeth　into　George's　calf　as　if　it　were　a　turkey　drumstick　while　another　man　silenced　the　screaming　head　at　the　other　end　of　George's　body　by　jerking　it　briskly　to　the　left。　The　room　was　blue　with　powdersmoke；　but　he　saw　Al　Coleman　throw　his　gun　down　and　pick　up　the　chant　…　'Now！　Now！　Now！'　And　he　saw　Ray　Parsons；　normally　the　most　pacific　of　men；　turn　his　rifle　on　Danny　O'Brian　and　blow　his　brains　out。
　　　　Now　the　matter　was　simple。　Now　it　was　just　the　infected　versus　the　immune。
　　　　The　desk　was　hit　and　slammed　against　the　wall。　The　door　fell　on　top　of　Cambry；　and　before　he　could　get　up；　people　were　running　over　the　door；　squashing　him。　He　felt　like　a　cowboy　who　has　fallen　off　his　horse　during　a　stampede。　I'm　going　to　die　under　here；　he　thought；　and　then　for　a　moment　the　murderous　pressure　was　gone。　He　lunged　to　his　knees；　driving　with　adrenaline…loaded　muscles；　and　the　door　slid　off　him　to　the　left；　saying　goodbye　with　a　vicious　dig　of　the　doorknob　into　his　hip。　Someone　dealt　him　a　passing　kick　in　the　ribcage；　another　boot　scraped　by　his　right　ear；　and　then　he　was　up。　The　room　was　thick　with　smoke；　crazy　with　shouts　and　screams。　Four　or　five　bulky　hunters　were　propelled　into　the　woodstove；　which　tore　free　of　its　pipe　and　went　crashing　over　on　its　side；　spilling　flaming　chunks　of　maple　onto