sk.cujo-第48部分

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　give　it　to　him。　During　the　last　three　and　a　half　hours　…since　what　would　have　been　lunchtime　at　home　…　the　sun　had　been　monstrous　and　unremitting。　Even　with　her　window　and　Tad's　window　open　a　quarter　of　the　way；　the　temperature　inside　must　have　reached　100　degrees；　maybe　more。　It　was　the　way　your　car　got　when　you　left　it　in　the　sun；　that　was　all。　Except；　under　normal　circumstances；　what　you　did　when　your　car　got　like　that　was　you　unrolled　all　the　windows；　pulled　the　knobs　that　opened　the　air…ducts；　and　got　rolling。　Let's　get　rolling　…　what　a　sweet　sound　those　words　had！
She　licked　her　lips。
For　short　periods　she　had　unrolled　the　windows　A　the　way；　creating　a　mild　draft；　but　she　was　afraid　to　leave　them　that　way。　She　might　doze　off。　The　heat　scared　her　…　it　scared　her　for　herself　and　even　more　for　Tad；　what　it　might　he　taking　out　of　him　…　but　it　didn't　scare　her　as　badly　as　the　face　of　that　dog；　slavering　foam　and　staring　at　her　with　its　sullen　red　eyes。
The　last　time　she　had　unrolled　the　windows　all　the　way　was　when　Cujo　had　disappeared　into　the　shadows　of　the　barn…garage。　But　now　Cujo　was　back。
He　sat　in　the　lengthening　shadow　of　the　big　barn；　his　head　lowered；　staring　at　the　blue　Pinto。　The　ground　between　his　front　paws　was　muddy　from　his　slaver。　Every　now　and　then　he　would　grow＇　and　snap　at　empty　air；　as　if　he　might　be　hallucinating。
How　long？　How　long　before　he　dies？
She　was　a　rational　woman。　She　did　not　believe　in　monsters　from　closets；　she　believed　in　things　she　could　see　and　touch。　There　was　nothing　supernatural　about　the　slobbering　wreck　of　a　Saint　Bernard　sitting　in　the　shade　of　a　barn；　he　was　merely　a　sick　animal　that　had　been　bitten　by　a　rabid　fox　or　skunk　or　something。　He　wasn't　out　to　get　her　personally。　He　wasn't　the　Reverend　Dimmesdale　or　Moby　Dog。　He　was　not　four…footed　Fate。
But。　。　。　she　had　just　about　decided　to　make　a　run　for　the　back　door　of　the　enclosed　Camber　porch　when　Cujo　had　e　rolling　and　staggering　out　of　the　darkness　of　the　barn。
Tad。　Tad　was　the　thing。　She　had　to　get　him　out　of　this。　No　more　fucking　around。　He　wasn't　answering　very　coherently　any　more。　He　seemed　to　he　in　touch　only　with　the　peaks　of　reality。　The　glazed　way　his　eyes　rolled　toward　her　when　she　spoke　to　him；　like　the　eyes　of　a　fighter　who　has　been　struck　and　struck　and　struck；　a　fighter　who　has　lost　his　coherence　along　with　his　mouthguard　and　is　waiting　only　for　the　final　flurry　of　punches　to　drop　him　insensible　to　the　canvas　…　those　things　terrified　her　and　roused　all　her　motherhood。　Tad　was　the　thing。　If　she　had　been　alone；　she　would　have　gone　for　that　door　long　ago。　It　was　Tad　who　had　held　her　back；　because　her　mind　kept　circling　back　to　the　thought　of　the　dog　pulling　her　down；　and　of　Tad　in　the　car　alone。
Still；　until　Cujo　had　returned　fifteen　minutes　ago；　she　had　been　preparing　herself　to　go　for　the　door。　She　played　it　over　and　over　in　her　mind　like　a　home　movie；　did　it　until　it　seemed　to　one　part　of　her　mind　as　if　it　had　already　happened。　She　would　shake　Tad　fully　awake；　slap　him　awake　if　she　had　to。　Tell　him　he　was　not　to　leave　the　car　and　follow　her　…　under　no　circumstances；　no　matter　what　happens。　She　would　run　from　the　car　to　the　porch　door。　Try　the　knob。　If　it　was　unlocked；　well　and　fine。　But　she　was　prepared　for　the　very　real　possibility　that　it　was　locked。　She　had　taken　off　her　shirt　and　now　sat　behind　the　wheel　in　her　white　cotton　bra；　the　shirt　in　her　lap。　When　she　went；　she　would　go　with　the　shirt　wrapped　around　her　hand。　Far　from　perfect　protection；　but　better　than　none　at　all。　She　would　smash　in　the　pane　of　glass　nearest　the　doorknob；　reach　through；　and　let　herself　onto　the　little　back　porch。　And　if　the　inner　door　was　locked；　she　would　cope　with　that　too。　Somehow。
But　Cujo　had　e　back　out；　and　that　took　away　her　edge。
Never　mind。　He'II　go　back　in。　He　has　before。
But　will　be？　her　mind　chattered。　It's　all　too　perfect；　isn't　it？　The　Cambers　are　gone；　and　they　remembered　to　shut　off　their　mail　like　good　citizens；　Vic　is　gone；　and　the　chances　are　slim　that　he'll　call　before　tomorrow　night；　because　we　just　Can't　afford　long　distance　every　night。　And　if　be　does　call；　he'll　call　early。　When　he　doesn't　get　any　answer　he'll　assume　we　went　out　to　catch　some　chow　at　Mario's　or　maybe　a　couple　of　ice　creams　at　the　Tastee　Freeze。　And　he　won't　call　later　because　he'll　think　we're　asleep。　He'll　call　tomorrow　instead。　Considerate　Vic。　Yes；　it's　all　just　too　perfect　Wasn't　there　a　dog　in　the　front　of　the　boat　in　that　story　about　the　boatman　on　the　River　Charon？　The　boatman's　dog。　just　call　me　Cujo。　All　out　for　the　Valley　of　Death。
Go　in；　she　silently　willed　the　dog。　Go　back　in　the　barn；　damn　you。
Cujo　didn't　move。
She　licked　her　lips；　which　felt　almost　as　puffy　as　Tad's　looked。
She　brushed　his　hair　off　his　forehead　and　said　softly；　'How　you　going；　Tadder？'
'Shhh；'　Tad　muttered　distractedly。　'The　ducks　。　。
She　gave　him　a　shake。　'Tad？　Honey？　You　okay？　Talk　to　me！'
His　eyes　opened　a　little　at　a　time。　He　looked　around；　a　small　boy　who　was　puzzled　and　hot　and　dreadfully　tired。　'Mommy？　Can't　we　go　home？　I'm　so　hot。。。'
'We'll　go　home；'　she　soothed。
'When；　Mom？　When？'　He　began　to　cry　helplessly。
Oh　Tad；　save　your　moisture；　she　thought。　You　may　need　it。　Crazy　thing　to　have　to　be　thinking。　But　the　entire　situation　was　ridiculous　to　the　point　of　lunacy；　wasn't　it？　The　idea　of　a　small　boy　dying　of　dehydration
（stop　it　be　is　NOT　dying）
less　than　seven　miles　from　the　nearest　good…sized　town　was　crazy。
But　the　situation　is　what　it　is；　she　reminded　herself　roughly。　And　don't　you　think　anything　else；　sister。　It's　like　a　war　on　a　miniaturized　scale；　so　everything　that　looked　small　before　looks　big　now。　The　smallest　puff　of　air　through　the　quarter…open　windows　was　a　zephyr。　The　distance　to　the　back　porch　was　half　a　mile　across　no…man's…land。　And　if　you　want　to　believe　the　dog　is　Fate；　or　the　Ghost　of　Sins　Remembered；　or　even　the　reincarnation　of　Elvis　Presley；　then　believe　it。　In　this　curiously　scaled…down　situation　…　this　life…or…death　situation　…even　having　to　go　to　the　bathroom　became　a　skirmish。
We're　going　to　get　out　of　it。　No　dog　is　going　to　do　this　to　my　son。
'When；　Mommy？'　He　looked　up　at　her；　his　eyes　wet；　his　face　as　pale　as　cheese。
'Soon；'　she　said　grimly。　'Very　soon。'　She　brushed　his　hair　back　and　held　him　against　her。　She　looked　out　Tad's　window　and　again　her　eyes　fixed　on　that*　thing　lying　in　the　high　grass；　that　old　friction…taped　baseball　bat。
I'd　like　to　bash　your　bead　in　with　it。
Inside　the　house；　the　phone　began　to　ring。
She　jerked　her　head　around；　suddenly　wild　with　hope。
'Is　it　for　us；　Mommy？　Is　the　phone　for　us？'
She　didn't　answer　him。　She　didn't　know　who　it　was　for。　But；　if　they　were　lucky　…　and　their　luck　was　due　to　change　soon；　wasn't　it？　…　it　would　be　from　someone　with　cause　to　be　suspicious　that　no　one　was　answering　the　phone　at　the　Cambers'。　Someone　who　would　e　out　and　check　around。
Cujo's　head　had　e　up。　His　head　cocked　to　one　side；　and　for　a　moment　he　bore　an　insane　resemblance　to　Nipper；　the　RCA　dog　with　his　ear　to　the　gramophone　horn。　He　got　shakily　to　his　feet　and　started　toward　the　house　and　the　sound　of　the　ringing　telephone。
'Maybe　the　doggy's　going　to　answer　the　telephone；'　Tad　said。　'Maybe　…'
With　a　speed　and　agility　that　was　terrifying；　the　big　dog　changed　direction　and　came　at　the　car。　The　awkward　stagger　was　gone　now。　as　if　it　had　been　nothing　but　a　sly　act　all　along。　It　was　roaring　and　bellowing　rather　than　barking。　Its　red　eyes　burned。　It　struck　the　car　with　a　hard；　dull　crunch　and　rebounded　…　with　stunned　eyes；　Donna　saw　that　the　side　of　her　door　was　actually　bowed　in　a　bit。　It　must　be　dead；　she　thought　hysterically；　bashed　its　sick　brains　in　spinal　fusion　deep　concussion　must　have　…　must　have　MUST　HAVE　
Cujo　got　back　up。　His　muzzle　was　bloody。　His　eyes　seemed　wandering；　vacuous　again。　Inside　the　house　the　phone　rang　on　and　on。　The　dog　made　as　if　to　walk　away；　suddenly　snapped　viciously　at　its　own　flank　as　if　stung；　whirled；　and　sprang　at　Donna's　window。　It　struck　right　in　front　of　Donna's　face　with　another　tremendous　dull　thud。　Blood　sprayed　across　the　Glass；　and　a　long　silver　crack　appeared。　Tad　shrieked　and　clapped　his　hands　to　his　face；　pulling　his　cheeks　down；　harrowing　them　with　his　fingernails。
The　dog　leaped　again。　Ropes　of　foam　runnered　back　from　his　bleeding　muzzle。　She　could　see　his　teeth；　heavy　as　old　yellow　ivory。　His　claws　clicked　on　the　glass。　A　cut　between　his　eyes　was　streaming　blood。　His　eyes　were　fixed　on　hers；　dumb；　dull　eyes；　but　not　without　…　she　would　have　sworn　it　not　without　some　knowledge。　Some　malign　knowledge。
'Get　out　of　here！'　she　screamed　at　it。
Cujo　threw　himself　against　the　side　of　the　car　below　her　window　again。　And　again。　And　again。　Now　her　door　was　badly　dented　inward。　Each　time　the　dog's　two…hundred…pound　bulk　struck　the　Pinto；　it　rocked　on　its　springs。　Each　time　she　heard　that　heavy；　toneless　thud；　she　felt　sure　it　must　have　killed　itself；　at　least　knocked　itself　unconscious。　And　each　time　it　trotted　back　toward　the　house；　whirled　and　charged　the　car　again。　Cujo's　face　was　a　mask　of　blood　and　matted　fur　from　which　his　eyes；　once　a　kind；　mild　brown；　peered　with　stupid　fury。
She　looked　at　Tad　and　saw　that　he　had　gone　into　a　shock　reaction；　curling