gns.throwback-第9部分

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are　only　youngsters　anyway；　no　more　than　three　months　old。　You　can　see　how　scared　they　are。　I'm　going；　but　you　can　stop　here；　if　you　want。'
　　
　　'I'm　ing　with　you。'　She　began　to　climb　after　him；　her　torn　overalls　snagging　on　the　rusted　bars　of　the　gate。　No　way　was　she　going　to　be　left　here　alone。　That　mad　billy　goat　was　only　in　the　adjoining　field　and　suppose　he　found　a　weak　part　in　the　straggling　hedge。　And　those　hens　in　the　trees　behind；　they　were　wild　and　fierce　like　birds　of　prey。　Sylvia　Atkinson　was　determined　not　to　let　Jon　Quinn　out　of　her　sight。
　　
　　The　fields　sloped　down　to　a　dip　that　was　hidden　from　their　view。　Uneven　tussocks　that　had　had　the　butt　grazed　out　of　them　by　generations　of　livestock　over　the　years；　sour　ground　that　would　never　be　lush　again　without　reseeding；　but　that　wasn't　Jon's　way；　a　natural　pastureland　was　his　ideal　but　right　now　there　was　nothing　natural　about　anything。
　　
　　The　four　calves　had　run　down　into　the　dip；　splashed　their　way　through　a　patch　of　boggy　ground　and　were　cantering　up　the　other　side。　They　stopped；　turned　back　to　look。　Calmer；　moving　away　at　a　walk。　Uneasy　but　their　panic　had　subsided　now　that　they　had　put　some　distance　between　themselves　and　the　intruders　in　their　field。
　　
　　Jon　slowed　his　pace；　he　did　not　want　to　alarm　the　calves　any　more　than　was　necessary。　Beyond　his　own　boundary　hedge　the　land　sloped　sharply　upwards；　Bill　Gwyther's　fields；　always　dotted　with　peacefully　grazing　sheep　except　during　the　winter　months　when　the　flock　was　moved　lower　down　close　to　the　farm　buildings。　The　sheep　were　still　there　but　today　they　were　huddled　together　in　a　corner；　a　bunch　of　plaintively　bleating　frightened　animals　that　sought　safety　in　numbers。
　　
　　What　the　hell's　got　into　them；　Jon　thought；　they　can't　even　see　us　from　up　there。　Something's　frightened　them。　Up　above　Gwyther's　land　the　skyline　terminated　in　a　line　of　dark　even　firs；　the　beginning　of　some　five　hundred　acres　of　Forestry　mission　woods　that　followed　along　the　ridge　and　down　over　the　other　sides。　Artificial　woodlands；　symmetry　that　was　not　consistent　with　this　wild　landscape；　thousands　of　rows　of　trees　with　only　the　odd　self…set　seedlings　out　of　place。　A　dark　forbidding　world　where　it　never　got　properly　light；　no　undergrowth　able　to　grow　below　the　branches。　You　could　get　lost　up　there　if　you　forgot　your　bearings。　A　world　of　silence　virtually　devoid　of　wildlife。
　　
　　That　fifth　calf　could　not　have　got　out　of　the　field；　Jon　was　sure　of　that。　Only　this　last　spring　he　had　blocked　up　every　patch　of　sparse　growth　in　the　hedges；　unsightly　but　effective。　It　had　to　be　down　in　the　hollow；　possibly　stuck　in　the　cloying　mud　or　else　just　after　water。　Either　way　。　。　。　Sylvia　Atkinson　screamed；　a　piercing　shriek　that　the　echoes　immediately　took　up　and　magnified；　starting　those　four　nervous　calves　running　again；　tearing　blindly　back　along　the　hedgeside。　And　in　that　instant　Jon　saw　why　she　had　screamed。
　　
　　Out　of　the　dip　came　a　grey…black　fearsome　brute；　long　pointed　ears　lying　flat　along　its　head；　bushy　tail　streaming　out　behind　it　as　it　ran。　Only　once　did　it　turn　its　head　to　look　back　and　the　watchers　saw　slobbering　open　jaws；　and　eyes　that　seemed　to　glint　redly　in　the　sunlight。　A　rough　coat；　bare　in　places　as　if　it　had　been　devastated　by　mange。　Even　as　Sylvia's　scream　died　away　the　waiting　echoes　took　up　the　bestial　howl；　a　bloodchilling　sound　that　was　filled　with　hate　and　anger　but　not　fear。　The　creature　fled　because　its　instincts　manded　it　to　but　in　no　way　was　it　afraid　of　Man；　'Gwyther's　Alsatian。'　At　least　Jon　thought　that　that　was　what　it　was；　the　resemblance　was　vaguely　familiar　although　he　was　sure　that　the　dog　had　never　been　quite　as　big　as　that。　He　shivered；　recalled　the　goats　and　the　hens；　how　they　had　once　looked；　the　calves；　too。
　　
　　'It's。　。　。like　a。　。　。　a　wolf。'　Sylvia　was　trembling　violently　and　for　one　awful　moment　Jon　thought　that　she　was　going　to　pass　out。　Every　vestige　of　colour　had　drained　from　her　face　and　only　by　holding　on　to　him　did　she　manage　to　remain　upright。　But　it　had　to　be　Bill　Gwyther's　dog；　it　couldn't　be　anything　else；　there　was　no　other　feasible　explanation。　At　least；　none　that　he　could　e　up　with。
　　
　　His　narrowed　eyes　followed　the　Alsatian's　flight；　now　an　easy　loping　stride　that　carried　it　up　the　far　bank　to　the　right　of　the　cattle；　through　a　gap　in　the　hedge　and　into　the　sheepfield　beyond。
　　
　　The　sheep　milled；　their　frightened　bleating　filling　the　still　air；　pressing　back　into　that　corner；　oblivious　of　the　cruel　strands　of　barbed…wire。　By　some　miracle　the　fence　stil！　held　firm；　posts　and　wire　taking　a　tremendous　strain。
　　
　　The　fleeing　dog　halted　momentarily。　Again　its　instinct　was　offering　it　a　choice。　Flight　or　those　sheep；　the　latter　easy　prey；　pull　one　down　after　another；　run　them　until　they　were　incapable　of　running　any　further。　It　bounded；　heading　right　towards　the　flock；　then　for　some　inexplicable　reason　altered　course　up　towards　the　forest　on　the　horizon。
　　
　　Jon　and　Sylvia　stood　watching　until　the　animal　was　out　of　sight；　lost　to　view　in　those　acres　of　darkness　up　on　the　skyline。　Like　the　sheep；　they　were　trembling　with　relief。
　　
　　'Never　did　take　to　Gwyther's　bloody　dog；'　Jon　spoke　at　last　in　a　hushed　whisper　as　though　he　was　afraid　lest　the　Alsatian　might　hear　him　and　e　back　to　take　its　revenge　on　them。　Because　it　hated　Man；　no　other　reason。　The　thing　always　was　wild；　kept　caged　up　all　the　time。　Old　Bill's　got　a　persecution　plex；　lives　all　on　his　own；　too　mean　even　to　have　the　electricity　put　in；　and　the　bugger's　worth　a　fortune。　Doesn't　believe　in　banks　either；　and　there's　rumours　that　he　keeps　his　money　buried　in　coffee　jars　in　the　garden。　I　never　liked　calling　there　in　case　the　Alsatian　happened　to　be　loose。　Perhaps　that's　why　he　kept　it；　to　deter　visitors。　Well　it's　loose　now　and　。　。　。　oh　Jesus！'
　　
　　They　had　stepped　forward　a　few　paces　and　now　they　saw　down　into　the　hollow　which　had　previously　been　out　of　their　view。　A　thick　muddy　patch　chewed　up　into　a　sloppy　mire　by　the　hooves　and　droppings　of　cattle。　A　putrid　stench　wafting　up　at　them　but　it　was　only　too　obvious　where　the　smell　was　ing　from。
　　
　　Below　them　in　the　mud　lay　the　missing　Charolais　calf。　At　least　Jon　presumed　it　was　because　he　couldn't　think　of　anything　else　which　the　mutilated　remains　might　belong　to。　The　head　lolled　back　exposing　a　gashed　throat　which　had　stained　the　surrounding　morass　a　deep　crimson　as　if　there　was　a　sandstone　element　in　the　soil。　The　underside　of　the　creature　had　been　ripped　open；　hide　and　skin　shredded　into　bloody　strips　so　that　the　intestines　had　spilled　out；　a　mess　of　offal　that　had　been　partially　eaten。　Wide　staring　dead　eyes　looked　up　at　them；　frozen　in　death　at　the　peak　of　terror。　You　wanted　to　clap　your　hands　over　your　ears　to　shut　out　its　death　cry；　thought　you　could　still　hear　the　dying　echoes　of　it　across　the　distant　range　of　hills。　Sylvia　turned　her　head　away；　almost　threw　up。　Jon　felt　the　bile　rise　in　his　own　throat；　a　mixture　of　fear　and　anger　engulfing　him。　Gwyther's　fucking　dog　had　done　this；　turned　sheep　and　cattle　killer　now　that　it　was　on　the　loose。　If　only　he'd　brought　the　gun　he　could　have　rolled　the　bastard　over　as　it　fled　up　the　bank。　As　it　was；　it　was　free　to　kill　again。　And　again。
　　
　　If　the　animal　was　Gwyther's　Alsatian。　It　had　to　be。　Not　necessarily；　he　could　not　have　sworn　positively　in　a　court　of　law　that　the　dog　was　the　culprit；　it　was　much　bigger　and　stronger；　only　a　faint　resemblance　to　a　domestic　guard　dog。　More　like　。。。　a　wolf。
　　
　　You're　letting　your　imagination　run　wild。　It　was　Bill　Gwyther's　dog；　different；　just　like　the　goats；　the　calves；　the　hens；　but　Gwyther's　dog　all　the　same。　A　feeling　of　futility；　helplessness。　There　was　no　law　left　to　award　him　damages　or　to　order　the　creature　to　be　put　down。　No　damages　because　money　didn't　count　for　anything　any　more。　You'll　have　to　shoot　the　bugger　yourself　if　you　want　it　destroyed。
　　
　　'Let's　get　back。'　He　turned　away；　let　Sylvia　lean　her　full　weight　on　him。　'We　can't　do　anything　here。'
　　
　　That　was　right　enough。　A　week　ago　he　would　have　reported　the　matter　to　the　police；　rung　the　hunt　kennels　to　fetch　the　dead　beast　or　else　buried　it　himself；　cried　at　a　funeral　that　had　cost　him　a　hundred　and　fifty　quid。　But　there　were　no　police；　no　kennels；　there　couldn't　be。　So　Nature　would　take　over；　the　buzzards　and　ravens　would　strip　the　flesh；　leave　the　bones　to　whiten　in　the　sun；　gradually　sink　out　of　sight　into　the　mud。　And　that　would　be　that。
　　
　　Sylvia　managed　to　stop　herself　from　saying　'I　can't　go　on　any　longer；　Jon'　because　you　did　not　have　any　choice　except　to　go　on。　There　was　no　alternative。　Maybe　those　who　had　got　caught　by　this　holocaust　were　the　fortunate　ones；　they　weren't　left　to　witness　what　had　happened。　But　at　that　moment　there　was　no　way　of　knowing　just　what　had　happened　to　the　rest　of　civilisation；　she　and　Jon　had　only　explored　a　few　acres　of　the　whole　world。　And　what　they　had　seen　was　enough。
　　
　　The　cottage　looked　forbidding；　its　windows　frowning　at　them　as　they　approached　it。　Go　away；　you　don't　belong　here。　You're　aliens；　freaks。
　　
　　Jon　kicked　open　the　door；　saw　that　the　t