gns.throwback-第44部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


e　burning。
　　
　　He　grabbed　a　storm　lantern；　lit　it　and　waited　for　the　flame　to　settle。　The　wick　needed　renewing；　he　would　see　to　it　tomorrow。　Always　tomorrow　but　deep　down　you　found　yourself　hoping　that　tomorrow　never　came。
　　
　　Upstairs；　almost　afraid　to　go　into　the　bedroom。　Maybe　Sylvia　had　gone；　crept　out　whilst　he　was　engrossed　in　his　gruesome　task；　had　just　walked　away　into　the　fog　and　wouldn't　be　ing　back。　Or　else　she　was　dead。　Last　night　might　have　proved　too　much　for　her；　there　was　a　bottle　of　aspirins　by　the　bed。
　　
　　Nausea　pressed　his　stomach；　tried　to　force　him　to　vomit。　Don't　go　in　there；　don't　look。　That　way　you　won't　ever　know。　If　she's　dead　then　you'll　have　to　bury　her　too。
　　
　　He　kicked　open　the　door；　held　the　lamp　at　arm's　length；　the　yellow　circle　of　light　quivering　and　casting　weird　shadows。　The　bed；　a　still　form　beneath　the　crumpled　sheets。　Alive　or　dead？
　　
　　Then　the　bedclothes　moved　and　Sylvia　came　into　view；　propped　herself　up　on　an　elbow；　blinked　in　the　sudden　wan　light。　He　scarcely　recognised　her；　she　seemed　to　have　aged　a　decade；　her　eyes　black…ringed　and　sunken；　deep　contours　etched　into　her　skin。　Sheer　hopelessness；　and　something　else…grief。
　　
　　'Jon？'
　　
　　'Are　you　OK？'
　　
　　'Eric's　dead；　Jon。'
　　
　　A　jumble　of　replies　crammed　his　confused　brain。　Don't　be　silly。　How　could　you　possibly　know？　He's　OK；　I'm　certain　of　it。　But　they　all　sounded　hollow　so　he　said　nothing；　just　stood　there　looking　at　her。
　　
　　'He's　dead；'　she　repeated。
　　
　　Jon　moved　into　the　room；　set　the　lantern　down　on　the　dresser。　She　moved　again；　sat　up；　and　he　saw　that　she　was　still　fully　dressed。
　　
　　'I　know　he　is。'　She　spoke　flatly；　not　even　a　tremor　in　her　voice。　'I　wish　I　could　have　seen　him　one　more　time　though。　Just　to　say　I'm　sorry。'
　　
　　He　lowered　himself　down　on　to　the　edge　of　the　bed；　suddenly　saw　how　she　had　changed　during　these　last　few　hours；　almost　drew　away　in　horror。　The　texture　of　her　skin　was　different；　blotched；　coarser；　her　hair　wiry；　the　soft　silkiness　gone　out　of　it。　The　pertness　of　her　features　was　gone　too；　lips　thicker；　nose　less　pointed。　An　unmistakable　resemblance　to　those　corpses　which　he　had　interred　today！
　　
　　'You're　ill。'　He　had　to　say　something；　must　not　alarm　her　unduly。　He　hoped　the　revulsion；　the　shock；　did　not　show　in　his　expression。　He　tried　to　tell　himself　that　it　was　a　trick　of　the　light；　that　if　he　went　and　fetched　a　torch　and　shone　it　on　her　she　would　be　all　right。　In　the　end　he　accepted　what　he　saw；　let　his　brain　go　numb；　didn't　try　to　find　reasons；　or　hope。　Somehow　Sylvia　was　undergoing　the　physical　change　which　had　thrown　back　the　population　of　the　rest　of　the　world　thousands　of　years。　Mentally　she　seemed　to　have　all　her　faculties。　At　the　moment　anyway。
　　
　　'I　know　he's　dead。'　Her　voice　was　a　dull　whisper　now。　'I　just　know。'
　　
　　Panic　hit　him　as　he　sat　there。　Like　the　time　Jackie　（oh　God；　how　1　need　her　now！）　had　been　suddenly　ill　in　the　middle　of　the　night　soon　after　they　were　married。　It　had　turned　out　to　be　an　allergy　to　a　drug　which　the　doctor　had　prescribed　but　he　did　not　know　that　at　the　time；　was　certain　she　was　having　a　heart　attack。　Wanting　to　rush　downstairs　and　phone　the　doctor　but　he　was　afraid　to　leave　her。　Sure　that　she　was　going　to　die。　If　she　did　then　he　would　kill　himself　because　he　couldn't　bear　to　be　without　her。　He　couldn't　bear　being　without　Jackie　now。　But　he　hadn't　killed　himself　because　she　had　been　al！　right。
　　
　　There　was　no　doctor　to　phone；　no　help　of　any　kind。　Nothing。　He　just　had　to　stay　with　Sylvia。
　　
　　'I'll　get　you　a　drink。'　His　voice　seemed　far　away；　a　faint　echo　ing　from　downstairs。　He　stood　up　and　his　legs　felt　weak。　He　swayed；　had　to　hold　on　to　the　dresser。
　　
　　He　groped　his　way　downstairs；　found　a　torch；　the　battery　was　going　and　he　didn't　know　whether　there　were　any　spares　left　but　it　would　do　for　now。　A　glass；　holding　it　under　the　tap；　leaning　on　the　sink。
　　
　　Sylvia　groped　for　the　tumbler；　slopped　some　of　it　down　herself；　drank　the　remainder　in　one　gulp。　She　stared　at　him；　did　not　seem　to　recognise　him…；　her　eyes　vacant。
　　
　　He　took　the　empty　glass　from　her；　backed　towards　the　door。　Til　be　back　in　a　bit。'　A　mumbled　excuse　for　leaving。　You　visited　a　senile　patient　in　hospital；　were　grateful　to　take　your　leave；　told　them　you'd　see　them　again。　You　hoped　you　wouldn't　but　you　did　not　want　to　be　cruel。
　　
　　Downstairs　he　would　have　thrown　up　had　his　stomach　not　been　empty。　He　didn't　want　to　eat；　couldn't。　His　head　was　spinning；　a　wave　of　dizziness　had　him　staggering　towards　the　frayed　sofa　in　the　kitchen；　flinging　himself　full…length　on　to　it。　Exhaustion　was　an　illness；　you　had　to　sleep　it　off。　A　release　valve　to　stop　you　from　going　mad；　you　reached　a　point　where　you　didn't　care　any　more。　So　you　slept。
　　
　　Morning；　not　early；　paratively　late　by　the　way　the　weak　sunshine　was　patterning　latticed　diamonds　on　the　wall。　Much　colder　too。　Jon　Quinn　shivered；　lay　there　and　let　his　recollections　of　the　previous　day　e　back　in　their　own　time。　He　listened；　couldn't　hear　anything；　didn't　want　to。　He　wished　he　could　go　back　to　sleep；　divorce　himself　from　reality。　Hide。
　　
　　In　the　end　he　swung　his　legs　to　the　floor　and　made　his　way　to　the　sink。　A　glass　of　water；　not　the　same　glass　that　Sylvia　had　used；　he　made　sure　of　that。　There　was　a　sour　taste　in　his　mouth；　the　taste　of　damp　earth。　Grave　soil？
　　
　　He　would　have　to　go　upstairs；　it　was　his　duty。　Better　now；　get　it　over　with；　if　he　put　it　off　any　longer　he　wouldn't　go。　He　would　walk　right　out　of　that　door　and　up　the　steep　hillside　opposite。　I　can't　beat　you　so　I've　e　to　join　you。　Maybe　the　change　will　take　me；　too；　and　then　I　won't　know　any　different。
　　
　　He　mounted　the　stairs　a　step　at　a　time。　In　the　cold　light　of　morning　there　would　be　no　shadows　to　hide　the　awful　facial　details。　You're　not　Sylvia；　you're　something　else。
　　
　　Just　like　Jackie　is。
　　
　　He　stood　on　the　landing；　almost　turned　back。　How　could　it　have　happened？　That　storm　months　ago　had　cleared　the　atmosphere　of　any　remaining　micro…organisms；　blown　them　on　westwards。　What　damage　was　done　was　done；　there　wouldn't　be　any　more。　You　were　just　left　to　live　with　what　remained。　In　theory。
　　
　　The　mating；　the　rape　。　。　。　That　was　it；　he　was　sure。　Eric　had　passed　the　change　on　in　his　semen；　given　Sylvia　new　life　in　a　different　way。　Oh　Jesus　God！　A　husband's　revenge　on　his　unfaithful　wife　and　her　lover！
　　
　　No；　I　don't　want　to　go　near　you；　Sylvia。　Thank　God　our　relationship　has　been　platonic　these　last　few　weeks。　Or　else　。　。　。
　　
　　He　hit　the　bedroom　at　a　rush　otherwise　he　would　never　have　gone　through　that　door。　Revulsion；　curiosity。　All　right；　let's　get　it　over；　let　me　look　at　you　and　。　。　。
　　
　　The　room　was　empty！
　　
　　He　stood　there　just　inside　the　door；　his　brain　trying　to　accept　that　there　was　no　horror　lying　there　on　the　bed；　no　disfiguration；　no　creature　that　might　have　been　four　thousand　years　old。　Nothing　but　a　pile　of　crumpled　sheets　and　blankets；　an　empty　bed　in　a　room　that　stank　of　stale　sweat　and　urine。
　　
　　Instinctively；　dazed；　he　checked　the　wardrobe；　looked　under　the　bed。　Just　to　satisfy　himself　that　she　wasn't　there。　She　wasn't；　he　didn't　expect　her　to　be。
　　
　　She　had　gone　because　the　call　of　the　wild　was　too　strong　for　her　to　resist；　she　had　returned　to　her　own　kind。
　　
　　It　was　some　time　later　when　Jon　Quinn　went　outside。　The　sun　had　been　obliterated　by　a　bank　of　dark　clouds　and　the　temperature　had　dropped　several　degrees。　He　grimaced。　Winter　had　replaced　autumn　overnight；　those　were　snow　clouds；　maybe　only　a　shower；　a　light　ground　covering　but　nevertheless　snow。
　　
　　He　filled　the　hayracks　in　the　goat　shed。　The　animals　were　being　accustomed　to　being　shut　in　now；　didn't　stampede　round　the　building　in　an　attempt　to　get　out　of　his　way。　The　young　billy　was　ready　to　be　slaughtered　for　meat　but　there　wasn't　any　point　anymore。　In　all　probability　he　would　just　turn　him　loose；　let　him　go　to　the　hills。　He　could　have　his　freedom　for　what　it　was　worth。
　　
　　As　he　came　out　of　the　buildings　a　flock　of　rooks　suddenly　rose　into　the　air；　cawing　loudly；　circling；　wanting　to　drop　back　down　on　to　whatever　they　had　been　feeding　on。
　　
　　Jon　stared　in　amazement。　Something　on　the　cultivation　patch　had　attracted　them；　he　couldn't　think　what；　there　were　few　growing　crops　to　interest　corvines　at　this　time　of　the　year。　He　picked　up　the　gun；　changed　his　mind。　He　did　not　have　cartridges　to　waste。　Ali　the　same　he　would　go　and　take　a　look。
　　
　　They　were　probably　scratching　in　the　soil　after　wire…worms　。。。　He　stopped；　almost　turned　and　ran。　God；　no；　not　that。
　　
　　Two　of　the　newly…dug　graves　had　been　disturbed；　the　loose　soil　scratched　out；　scattered　all　around。　And　lying　there；　partly　out　of　the　ground；　exposed　to　their　waists；　were　two　of　the　corpses！　They　stared　fixedly　in　his　direction　out　of　bloody　eyeless　sockets；　flesh　hanging　from　their　faces　in　scarlet　ribbons。　Rigid　in　rigor　mortis；　stiff　arms　pointing　in　his　direction。
　　
　　Murderer！
　　
　　If　his　limbs　had　responded　Jon　Quinn　would　have　turned　and　run。　I