gns.throwback-第26部分

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m　urgently。　We　must　flee　to　the　woods　before　they　find　out　that　we　are　missing。　Both　of　us；　I'm　going　too。　They'll　kill　me　if　they　catch　me。　You；　loo。
　　
　　He　followed　in　her　wake；　the　firm　outline　of　her　body；　buttocks　that　wiggled　seductively　even　in　primitive　flight；　moving　as　lithely　as　a　hunted　deer。　He　would　go　where　she　led；　unquestioningly；　she　wanted　to　leave　this　place　for　some　reason　and　he　would　go　with　her。　He　didn't　want　to　think　beyond　that。
　　
　　The　eastern　sky　was　beginning　to　pale　when　they　finally　came　to　the　fringe　of　the　big　pine　forest；　another　world；　dank　and　evil…smelling。　A　stench　like　that　of　rotting　corpses；　stinkhorn；　a　fungus　that　crawled　with　flies　perhaps　even　fooling　them　that　they　were　feeding　on　deposing　flesh。
　　
　　A　magpie　chattered　a　machine…gun…like　early　warning　and　a　jay　screeched　its　acknowledgement；　set　a　carrion　crow　cawing。　Man　was　abroad；　he　had　infiltrated　one　of　Nature's　fortresses。　Beware！
　　
　　Phil　Winder　held　back　a　second；　hesitated。　He　would　not　have　ventured　in　there　under　normal　circumstances；　still　pandered　to　his　childhood　fear　of　the　dark　which　he　had　never　really　overe。　It　was　the　sort　of　place　where　your　imagination　could　run　riot　and　after　what　he　had　already　seen　and　experienced　。　。　。
　　
　　The　girl　turned；　grabbed　him　by　the　wrist。　e　on；　we've　got　to　go　this　way　because　if　we　don't　they　will　catch　up　with　us。　They　will　have　missed　us　by　now；　be　on　our　trail。
　　
　　He　did　not　resist；　allowed　her　to　pull　him　gently　along。　Winding　paths　through　towering　dark　green　trees；　an　occasional　clump　of　grass　or　some　ferns　in　those　places　where　the　sun　found　a　way　through。　You　got　the　impression　that　this　coniferous　monster　was　slowly　swallowing　you　up　and　there　was　no　way　back。　Ever。
　　
　　Phil　noticed　his　panion　glancing　behind　her　every　so　often；　once　stopping　to　listen。　Total　silence；　even　the　corvines　weren't　calling　any　longer。　Probably　they　had　flown　out　to　the　fields　for　their　morning　feed；　found　death　in　a　variety　of　forms　and　scavenged　hungrily。　A　train　of　thought　that　led　back　to　himself；　Phil　was　aware　how　dry　his　mouth　had　gone；　a　sour　taste　on　his　furred　tongue。　He　and　the　girl　could　end　up　like　that；　maybe　not　even　dead　when　those　filthy　birds　flew　in；　not　enough　strength　to　ward　them　off。　Feeling　your　flesh　being　gouged　by　claws；　sharp　beaks　ripping　it　from　the　bones。　They　always　went　for　the　eyes　first　。　。　。
　　
　　The　sun　was　up。　Occasionally　they　glimpsed　it　through　the　dense　fir　branches；　felt　its　heat。　Next　came　the　flies；　black　swarms　which　had　possibly　grown　tired　of　feeding　on　stinkhorn。　His　panion　seemed　oblivious　of　them　even　when　they　settled　on　her；　crawled　over　her　face。　Phil　swatted　at　them　ceaselessly；　futilely。　A　kind　of　game　which　you　couldn't　win；　like　a　rigged　fairground　gallery；　you　hit　one　but　it　didn't　drop；　buzzed　angrily　and　came　in　at　you　again。
　　
　　They　had　to　emerge　from　the　wood　soon；　surely。　Phil　knew　the　place　vaguely　although　he　had　never　ventured　up　here　before；　a　skyline　view　from　his　parents'　farm。　Once　his　father　had　gone　up　there　looking　for　missing　lambs　but　Phil　had　stayed　behind　with　his　mother。　The　wood　couldn't　be　all　that　big。　If　you　kept　walking　you　had　to　e　out　at　the　other　end　eventually。　He　wondered　if　the　girl　knew　where　she　was　going　or　whether　she　was　just　running　blindly。　He　wished　he　could　talk　to　her；　make　her　understand　things　beyond　the　simplicity　of　sign　language。　No　sign　of　life；　not　even　a　rabbit　or　a　grey　squirrel；　a　dead；　dead　place。　A　host　of　fears。　Perhaps　they　were　going　round　in　circles；　would　still　be　in　here　when　night　came　again。　Their　pursuers　must　realise　where　they　had　fled；　might　be　in　here　now　searching　for　them；　crouching　in　the　trees；　listening　for　soft　footfalls　on　the　thick　carpet　of　dead　pine　needles。　Phil　Winder　found　himself　watching　the　uppermost　branches　of　the　trees　as　they　passed　beneath　them。　When　he　had　been　captured　the　attack　had　e　from　above。
　　
　　Suddenly　the　fugitives　were　out　of　the　trees。　The　path　veered　sharply　to　the　right；　then　a　left…hand　bend；　and　before　them　were　the　familiar　bracken…and　heather…covered　hillsides　sloping　steeply　downwards。　The　other　side　of　the　Hill。
　　
　　They　stood　there　just　looking　at　the　scenery　like　a　couple　of　holidaymakers　who　had　spent　the　day　climbing　to　the　summit　of　a　fell　just　to　look　back　on　the　panoramic　view。　A　patchwork　of　green　quilt　untidily　stitched　together　with　ragged　hedgerows　that　had　been　mutilated　by　modern　flail…cutters　and　which　Nature　was　doing　her　damnedest　to　hide　with　lush　new　growth；　farm　buildings　which　had　stood　for　a　century　or　more；　sheep　grazing　peacefully。　Nothing　untoward　about　it　from　this　distance；　you　might　even　have　kidded　yourself　that　everything　was　perfectly　normal；　that　the　wood　behind　you　had　conjured　up　some　awful　nightmare　but　you　were　fast　getting　it　out　of　your　system。
　　
　　But　it　was　the　sheer　silence　that　told　you　everything　wasn't　all　right；　told　you　that　it　wasn't　just　a　dark　dream　brought　on　by　that　forest。　It　was　real。
　　
　　A　familiar　scene　viewed　from　a　different　angle。　Phil　Winder　noted　the　farms　and　holdings；　found　himself　working　out　their　locations；　their　ownership。　Gwyther's　in　the　hollow；　and　if　you　followed　the　Hill　right　round　you　came　to　that　new　chap's　place。　He　tried　to　remember　the　fellow's　name。　It　eluded　him。　And　then　he　found　himself　staring　directly　down　on　his　own　folks'　farm；　identification　slow　to　filter　through　because　he　had　never　imagined　it　would　look　quite　like　that　from　above。　The　house；　the　yard；　that　dutch　barn　with　just　a　few　bales　of　last　year's　hay　left　in　it　whilst　the　growing　crop　was　already　starting　to　spoil　in　the　fields。　Sheer　waste；　but　it　didn't　damned　well　matter　any　more；　did　it？
　　
　　Jackie　was　pulling　at　his　arm；　the　brief　respite　in　her　urgency　over。　We　must　not　delay；　they　are　surely　not　far　behind　us。　Let　us　follow　the　valley；　pointing；　stabbing　the　air　with　a　finger　in　an　easterly　direction。
　　
　　'No；'　he　snapped；　pointed　at　the　Winder　farm　insistently。　'We　can　go　there。　That　is　my　home。'
　　
　　She　didn't　understand；　was　being　frantic；　pulling　at　his　arm；　making　little　grunting　noises。　We　must　hurry。
　　
　　And　that　was　when　he　hit　her。　A　stinging　slap　across　the　face　that　jerked　her　head　sideways；　brought　a　yelp　of　shock　and　pain　from　her　lips。　Anger　had　him　yelling；　'That's　my　bloody　home　down　there　and　if　I　want　to　go　back　I　will　and　you　can　go　your　own　way。1　I　don't　want　to　go　home；　I　walked　out　because　of　what　happened　there；　but　since　I　found　out　about　the　outside　world　I'm　running　back。　To　hide。　To　die。
　　
　　Guilt　and　remorse　came　fast　on　the　heels　of　his　unleashed　fury。　'Oh　Christ；　I'm　sorry；　I　didn't　mean　to　hit　you。'　I　did；　I　just　wish　I　hadn't。
　　
　　He　saw　the　tears　in　her　eyes；　the　way　her　body　trembled。　
　　
　　She　was　trying　to　cry　but　it　didn't　e　easy　because　out　here　crying　was　a　weakness　that　your　own　kind　took　advantage　of。　If　only　he　could　made　her　understand；　point　down　there　to　that　farmhouse；　tap　your　chest。　My　home。　It　might　get　through。
　　
　　He　didn't　need　to　because　her　hand　had　found　his　again；　a　squeeze　this　time　instead　of　an　insistent　tug。　I'm　sorry；　it　was　not　my　place　to　protest　against　your　will　because　you　are　now　my　man。
　　
　　It　was　settled　then　and　he　knew　that　she　would　follow　him　down　the　Hill。
　　
　　He　had　to　keep　reminding　himself　that　it　was　only　yesterday　that　he　had　left　the　farm。　It　seemed　an　age；　like　returning　home　for　the　summer　vacation；　wondering　what　had　changed　in　his　absence。
　　
　　Jackie's　grip　tightened　on　his　arm　but　she　wasn't　trying　to　dissuade　him　from　going　into　the　house；　only　showing　her　own　fear　of　an　unfamiliar　dwelling…place。　He　saw　her　amazement　at　things　like　doors　and　windows；　the　smoothness　of　the　stonework　on　the　walls。　Starting　in　alarm　as　the　latch　clicked；　clinging　to　him　like　a　child。
　　
　　Phil　glanced　around；　thought　perhaps　his　mother　and　father　might　have　returned。　But　they　hadn't。　Once　you　turned　feral　you　didn't　e　back。
　　
　　Jackie　stood　there　watching　him　as　he　went　to　the　kitchen　cupboard；　reached　down　a　can　of　beans　and　a　small　square　tin　of　corned　beef；　began　to　open　them。　He　filled　the　kettle；　discovered　to　his　relief　that　there　was　still　power　ing　from　the　generator。　Jackie　backed　away　a　step　as　the　kettle　began　an　increasing　hum　up　towards　the　boil。　He　gave　a　little　laugh；　the　first　time　he　had　seen　the　funny　side　of　all　this　since　he　had　e　up　from　the　mine。　How　the　fuck　do　you　explain　coffee　to　an　Ancient　Brit？
　　
　　His　first　task　was　to　work　at　putting　her　at　her　ease。　After　they　had　eaten　he　would　look　out　some　clothes　for　himself；　he　didn't　need　them　but　it　would　boost　his　morale。　Then　they　would　need　to　rest。　He　had　not　slept　for　thirty…six　hours　and　he　doubted　if　she　had　either。
　　
　　Once　again　his　inhibitions　surfaced。　Where　and　how　were　they　going　to　sleep？　There　were　three　bedrooms　upstairs；　his　own；　his　parents'；　and　the　spare　room　which　was　full　of　lumber。　He　didn't　want　to　sleep　in　his　parents'　because　。　。　。　well；　not　after　that；　certainly。　His　own　then；　just　a　single　bed。
　　
　　'We'd　better　get　some　sleep。