cb.booksofblood2-第23部分

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s　agony　towards　the　mountains。　Flames　sprouted　off　its　back　and　the　air　was　tinged　with　the　smell　of　its　cooking　flesh。
　
　It　didn't　fall；　however；　though　the　fire　must　have　been　devouring　it。　The　run　went　on　and　on；　until　the　heat　dissolved　the　highway　into　the　blue　distance；　and　it　was　gone。
　Davidson　sank　down　on　to　his　knees。　The　shit　on　his　legs　was　already　dry　in　the　heat。　The　car　continued　to　burn。　The　music　had　gone　entirely；　as　had　the　procession。
　It　was　the　sun　that　drove　him　from　the　sand　back　towards　his　gutted　car。
　He　was　blank…eyed　when　the　next　vehicle　along　the　highway　stopped　to　pick　him　up。
　
　Sheriff　Josh　Packard　stared　in　disbelief　at　the　claw　prints　on　the　ground　at　his　feet。　They　were　etched　in　slowly　solidifying　fat；　the　liquid　flesh　of　the　monster　that　had　run　through　the　main　street　（the　only　street）　of　Wele　minutes　ago。　It　had　then　collapsed；　breathing　its　last　breath；　and　died　in　a　writhing　ball　three　trucks'　length　from　the　bank。　The　normal　business　of　Wele；　the　trading；　the　debating；　the　how　do　you　do's；　had　halted。　One　or　two　nauseous　individuals　had　been　received　into　the　lobby　of　the　Hotel　while　the　smell　of　fricasseed　flesh　thickened　the　good　desert　air　of　the　town。
　The　stench　was　something　between　over…cooked　fish　and　an　exhumation；　and　it　offended　Packard。　This　was　his　town；　overlooked　by　him；　protected　by　him。　The　intrusion　of　this　fireball　was　not　looked　upon　kindly。
　Packard　took　out　his　gun　and　began　to　walk　towards　the　corpse。　The　flames　were　all　but　out　now；　having　eaten　the　best　of　their　meal。　Even　so　destroyed　by　fire；　it　was　a　sizeable　bulk。　What　might　once　have　been　its　limbs　were　gathered　around　what　might　have　been　its　head。　The　rest　was　beyond　recognition。　All　in　all；　Packard　was　glad　of　that　small　mercy。　But　even　in　the　charnel…house　confusion　of　rendered　flesh　and　blackened　bone　he　could　make　out　enough　inhuman　forms　to　quicken　his　pulse。
　This　was　a　monster：　no　doubt　of　it。
　A　creature　from　earth：　out　of　earth；　indeed。　Up　from　the　underworld　and　on　its　way　to　the　great　bowl　for　a　night　of　celebration。　Once　every　generation　or　so；　his　father　had　told　him；　the　desert　spat　out　its　demons　and　let　them　loose　awhile。　Being　a　child　who　thought　for　himself　Packard　had　never　believed　the　shit　his　father　talked　but　was　this　not　such　a　demon？
　Whatever　mischance　had　brought　this　burning　mons…trosity　into　his　town　to　die；　there　was　pleasure　for　Packard　in　the　proof　of　their　vulnerability。　His　father　had　never　mentioned　that　possibility。
　Half…smiling　at　the　thought　of　mastering　such　foulness；　Packard　stepped　up　to　the　smoking　corpse　and　kicked　it。　The　crowd；　still　lingering　in　the　safety　of　the　doorways；　cooed　with　admiration　at　his　bravery。　The　half…smile　spread　across　his　face。　That　kick　alone　would　be　worth　a　night　of　drinks；　perhaps　even　a　woman。
　The　thing　was　belly　up。　With　the　dispassionate　gaze　of　a　professional　demon…kicker；　Packard　scrutinized　the　tangle　of　limbs　across　the　head。　It　was　quite　dead；　that　was　obvious。　He　sheathed　his　gun　and　bent　towards　the　corpse。
　'Get　a　camera　out　here；　Jebediah；'　he　said；　impressing　even　himself。
　His　deputy　ran　off　towards　the　office。
　'What　we　need；'　he　said；　'is　a　picture　of　this　here　beauty。'
　Packard　went　down　on　his　haunches　and　reached　across　to　the　blackened　limbs　of　the　thing。　His　gloves　would　be　ruined；　but　it　was　worth　the　inconvenience　for　the　good　this　gesture　would　be　doing　for　his　public　image。　He　could　almost　feel　the　admiring　looks　as　he　touched　the　flesh；　and　began　to　shake　a　limb　loose　from　the　head　of　the　monster。
　The　fire　had　welded　the　parts　together；　and　he　had　to　wrench　the　limb　free。　But　it　came；　with　a　jellied　sound；　revealing　the　heat…withered　eye　on　the　face　beneath。
　He　dropped　the　limb　back　where　it　had　e　with　a　look　of　disgust。
　A　beat。
　Then　the　demon's　arm　was　snaking　up　…　suddenly　…　too　suddenly　for　Packard　to　move；　and　in　a　moment　sublime　with　terror　the　Sheriff　saw　the　mouth　open　in　the　palm　of　its　forefoot　and　close　again　around　his　own　hand。
　Whimpering　he　lost　balance　and　sat　in　the　fat；　pulling　away　from　the　mouth；　as　his　glove　was　chewed　through；　and　the　teeth　connected　with　his　hand；　clipping　off　his　fingers　as　the　rasping　maw　drew　digits；　blood　and　stumps　further　into　its　gut。
　Packard's　bottom　slid　in　the　mess　under　him　and　he　squirmed；　howling　now；　to　loose　himself。　It　still　had　life　in　it；　this　thing　from　the　underworld。　Packard　bellowed　for　mercy　as　he　staggered　to　his　feet；　dragging　the　sordid　bulk　of　the　thing　up　off　the　ground　as　he　did　so。
　A　shot　sounded；　close　to　Packard's　ear。　Fluids；　blood　and　pus　spattered　him　as　the　limb　was　blown　to　smithereens　at　the　shoulder；　and　the　mouth　loosed　its　grip　on　Packard。　The　wasted　mass　of　devouring　muscle　fell　to　the　ground；　and　Packard's　hand；　or　what　was　left　of　it；　was　in　the　open　air　again。　There　were　no　fingers　remaining　on　his　right　hand；　and　barely　half　a　thumb；　the　shattered　bone　of　his　digits　jutted　awkwardly　from　a　partially　chewed　palm。
　
　Eleanor　Kooker　dropped　the　barrel　of　the　shotgun　she　had　just　fired；　and　grunted　with　satisfaction。
　'Your　hand's　gone；'　she　said；　with　brutal　simplicity。
　Monsters；　Packard　remembered　his　father　telling　him；　never　die。　He'd　remembered　too　late；　and　now　he'd　sacrificed　his　hand；　his　drinking；　sexing　hand。　A　wave　of　nostalgia　for　lost　years　with　those　fingers　washed　over　him；　while　dots　burst　into　darkness　before　his　eyes。　The　last　thing　he　saw　as　a　dead　faint　carried　him　to　the　ground　was　his　dutiful　deputy　raising　a　camera　to　record　the　whole　scene。
　
　The　shack　at　the　back　of　the　house　was　Lucy's　refuge　and　always　had　been。　When　Eugene　came　back　drunk　from　Wele；　or　a　sudden　fury　took　him　because　the　stew　was　cold；　Lucy　retired　into　the　shack　where　she　could　weep　in　peace。　There　was　no　pity　to　be　had　in　Lucy's　life。　None　from　Eugene　certainly；　and　precious　little　time　to　pity　herself。
　Today；　the　old　source　of　irritation　had　got　Eugene　into　a　rage：
　The　child。
　The　nurtured　and　carefully　cultivated　child　of　their　love；　named　after　the　brother　of　Moses；　Aaron；　which　meant　'exalted　one'。　A　sweet　boy。　The　prettiest　boy　in　the　whole　territory；　five　years　old　and　already　as　charming　and　polite　as　any　East　Coast　Momma　could　wish　to　raise。
　Aaron。
　Lucy's　pride　and　joy；　a　child　fit　to　blow　bubbles　in　a　picture　book；　fit　to　dance；　fit　to　charm　the　Devil　himself。
　That　was　Eugene's　objection。
　'That　flicking　child's　no　more　a　boy　than　you　are；'　he　said　to　Lucy。　'He's　not　even　a　half…boy。　He's　only　fit　for　putting　in　fancy　shoes　and　selling　perfume。　Or　a　preacher；　he's　fit　for　a　preacher。'
　He　pointed　a　nail…bitten；　crook…thumbed　hand　at　the　boy。
　'You're　a　shame　to　your　father。'
　Aaron　met　his　father's　stare。
　'You　hear　me；　boy？'
　Eugene　looked　away。　The　boy's　big　eyes　made　him　sick　to　his　stomach；　more　like　a　dog's　eyes　than　anything　human。
　'I　want　him　out　of　this　house。'
　'What's　he　done？'
　'He　doesn't　need　to　do　a　thing。　It's　sufficient　he's　the　way　he　is。　They　laugh　at　me；　you　know　that？　They　laugh　at　me　because　of　him。'
　'Nobody　laughs　at　you；　Eugene。'
　'Oh　yes　…'
　'Not　for　the　boy's　sake。'
　'Huh？'
　'If　they　laugh；　they　don't　laugh　at　the　boy。　They　laugh　at　you。'
　'Shut　your　mouth。'
　'They　know　what　you　are；　Eugene。　They　see　you　clear；　clear　as　I　see　you。'
　'I　tell　you；　woman　…'
　'Sick　as　a　dog　in　the　street；　talking　about　what　you've　seen　and　what　you're　scared　of…'
　He　struck　her　as　he　had　many　times　before。　The　blow　drew　blood；　as　similar　blows　had　for　five　years；　but　though　she　reeled；　her　first　thoughts　were　for　the　boy。
　'Aaron；'　she　said　through　the　tears　the　pain　had　brought。　'e　with　me。'
　'You　let　the　bastard　alone。'　Eugene　was　trembling。
　'Aaron。'
　
　The　child　stood　between　father　and　mother；　not　knowing　which　to　obey。　The　look　of　confusion　on　his　face　brought　Lucy's　tears　more　copiously。
　'Mama；'　said　the　child；　very　quietly。　There　was　a　grave　look　in　his　eyes；　that　went　beyond　confusion。　Before　Lucy　could　find　a　way　to　cool　the　situation；　Eugene　had　hold　of　the　boy　by　his　hair　and　was　dragging　him　closer。
　'You　listen　to　your　father；　boy。'
　'Yes　…'
　'Yes；　sir；　we　say　to　our　father；　don't　we？　We　say；　yes；　sir。'
　Aaron's　face　was　thrust　into　the　stinking　crotch　of　his　father's　jeans。
　'Yes；　sir。'
　'He　stays　with　me；　woman。　You're　not　taking　him　out　into　that　fucking　shack　one　more　time。　He　stays　with　his　father。'
　The　skirmish　was　lost　and　Lucy　knew　it。　If　she　pressed　the　point　any　further；　she　only　put　the　child　at　further　risk。
　'If　you　harm　him　…'
　'I'm　his　father；　woman；'　Eugene　grinned。　'What；　do　you　think　I'd　hurt　my　own　flesh　and　blood？'
　The　boy　was　locked　to　his　father's　hips　in　a　position　that　was　scarcely　short　of　obscene。　But　Lucy　knew　her　husband：　and　he　was　dose　to　an　outburst　that　would　be　uncontrollable。　She　no　longer　cared　for　herself…　she'd　had　her　joys　…　but　the　boy　was　so　vulnerable。
　'Get　out　of　our　sight；　woman；　why　don't　you？　The　boy　and　I　want　to　be　alone；　don't　we？'
　Eugene　dragged　Aaron's　face　from　his　crotch　and　sneered　down　at　his　pale　face。
　'Don't　we？'
　'Yes；　Papa。'
　'Yes；　Papa。　Oh　yes　indeed；　Papa。'
　Lucy　left　the　house　and