sk.cujo-第29章

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nds　were　stupid　blocks　of　flesh　south　of　her　wrists　with　no　feeling　in　them。　Her　urine　went。　She　was　unaware　of　it　save　for　some　vague　sensation　of　distant　warmth。　…
And　the　dog　seemed　to　know。　His　terrible；　thoughtless　eyes　never　left　Donna　Trenton's　wide　blue　ones。　He　paced　forward　slowly；　almost　languidly。　Now　he　was　standing　on　the　barnboards　at　the　mouth　of　the　garage。　Now　he　was　on　the　crushed　gravel　twenty…five　feet　away。　He　never　stopped　growling。　It　was　a　low；　purring　sound；　soothing　in　its　menace。　Foam　dropped　from　Cujo's　snout。　And　she　couldn't　move；　not　at　all。
Then　Tad　saw　the　dog；　recognized　the　blood　which　streaked　its　fur；　and　shrieked　…　a　high　piercing　sound　that　made　Cujo　shift　his　eyes。　And　that　was　what　seemed　to　free　her。
She　turned　in　a　great　shambling　drunk's　pivot；　slamming　her　lower　leg　against　the　Pinto's　fender　and　sending　a　steely　bolt　of　pain　up　to　her　hip。　She　ran　back　around　the　hood　of　the　car。　Cujo's　growl　rose　to　a　shattering　roar　of　rage　and　he　charged　at　her。　Her　feet　almost　skidded　out　from　under　her　in　the　loose　gravel；　and　she　was　only　able　to　recover　by　slamming　her　arm　down　on　the　Pinto's　hood。　She　hit　her　crazybone　and　uttered　a　thin　shriek　of　pain。
The　car　door　was　shut。　She　had　shut　it　herself；　automatically；　after　getting　out。　The　chromed　button　below　the　handle　suddenly　seemed　dazzlingly　bright；　winking　arrows　of　sun　into　her　eyes。　I'll　never　be　able　to　get　that　door　open　and　get　in　and　get　it　shut；　she　thought；　and　the　choking
realization　that　she　might　be　about　to　die　rose　up　in　her。　Not　enough　time。　No　way。
She　raked　the　door　open。　She　could　hear　her　breath　sobbing　in　and　out　of　her　throat。　Tad　screamed　again；　a　shrill；　breaking　sound。
She　sat　down；　almost　falling　into　the　driver's　seat。　She　got　a　glimpse　of　Cujo　ing　at　her；　hindquarters　tensing　down　for　the　leap　that　would　bring　all　two　hundred　pounds　of　him　right　into　her　lap。
She　yanked　the　Pinto's　door　shut　with　both　hands；　reaching　over　the　steering　wheel　with　her　right　arm；　honking　the　horn　with　her　shoulder。　She　was　just　in　time。　A　split　second　after　the　door　slammed　closed　there　was　a　heavy；　solid　thud；　as　if　someone　had　swung　a　chunk　of　stovewood　against　the　side　of　the　car。　The　dog's　barking　roars　of　rage　were　cut　off　cleanly；　and　there　was　silence。
Knocked　himself　out；　she　thought　hysterically。　Thank　God；　thank　God　for　that　
And　a　moment　later　Cujo's　foam…covered；　twisted　face　popped　up　outside　her　window；　only　inches　away；　like　a　horror…movie　monster　that　has　decided　to　give　the　audience　the　ultimate　thrill　by　ing　right　out　of　the　screen。　She　could　see　his　huge；　heavy　teeth。　And　again　there　was　that　swooning；　terrible　feeling　that　the　dog　was　looking　at　her；　not　at　a　woman　who　just　happened　to　be　trapped　in　her　car　with　her　little　boy；　but　at　Donna　Trenton；　as　if　he　had　just　been　hanging　around；　waiting　for　her　to　show　up。
Cujo　began　to　bark　again；　the　sound　incredibly　loud　even　through　the　Saf…T…Glas。　And　suddenly　it　occurred　to　her　that　if　she　had　not　automatically　rolled　her　window　up　as　she　brought　the　Pinto　to　a　stop　（something　her　father　had　insisted　on：　stop　the　car；　roll　up　the　windows；　set　the　brake；　take　the　keys；　lock　the　car）；　she　would　now　be　minus　her　throat。　Her　blood　would　be　on　the　wheel；　the　dash；　the　windshield。　That　one　action；　so　automatic　she　could　not　even　really　remember　performing　it。
She　screamed。
The　dog's　terrible　face　dropped　from　view。
She　remembered　Tad　and　looked　around。　When　she　saw　him；　a　new　fear　invaded　her；　drilling　like　a　hot　needle。　He　had　not　fainted；　but　he　was　not　really　conscious；　either。　He　had　fallen　back　against　the　seat；　his　eyes　dazed　and　blank。　His　face　was　white。　His　lips　had　gone　bluish　at　the　corners。
'Tad！'　She　snapped　her　fingers　under　his　nose；　and　he　blinked　sluggishly　at　the　dry　sound。　'Tad！'
'Mommy；'　he　said　thickly。　'How　did　the　monster　in　my　closet　get　out？　Is　it　a　dream？　Is　it　my　nap？'
'It's　going　to　be　all　right；'　she　said；　chilled　by　what　he　had　said　about　his　closet　nonetheless。　'It's　…'
She　saw　the　dog's　tail　and　the　top　of　its　broad　back　over　the　hood　of　the　Pinto。　It　was　going　around　to　Tad's　side　of　the　car　
And　Tad's　window　wasn't　shut。
She　jackknifed　across　Tad's　lap；　moving　with　such　a　hard　muscular　spasm　that　she　cracked　her　fingers　on　the　window　crank。　She　turned　it　as　fast　as　she　could；　panting；　feeling　Tad　squirming　beneath　her。
It　was　three　quarters　of　the　way　up　when　Cujo　leaped　at　the　window。　His　muzzle　shot　in　through　the　dosing　gap　and　was　forced　upward　toward　the　ceiling　by　the　closing　window。　The　sound　of　his　snarling　barks　filled　the　small　car。　Tad　shrieked　again　and　wrapped　his　arms　around　his　head；　his　forearms　crossed　over　his　eyes。　He　tried　to　dig　his　face　into　Donna's　belly；　reducing　her　leverage　on　the　window　crank　in　his　blind　efforts　to　get　away。
'Momma！　Momma！　Momma！　Make　it　stop！　Make　it　go　away！'
Something　warm　was　running　across　the　backs　of　her　hands。　She　saw　with　mouting　horror　that　it　was　mixed　slime　and　blood　running　from　the　dog's　mouth。　Using　everything　that　she　had；　she　managed　to　force　the　window　crank　through　another　quarter　turn　。　。　and　then　Cujo　pulled　back。　She　caught　just　a　glimpse　of　the　Saint　Bernard's　features；　twisted　and　crazy；　a　mad　caricature　of　a　friendly　Saint　Bernard's　face。　Then　it　dropped　back　to　all　fours　and　she　could　only　see　its　back。
Now　the　crank　turned　easily。　She　shut　the　window；　then　wiped　the　backs　of　her　hands　on　her　jeans；　uttering　small　cries　of　revulsion。
（oh　Christ　oh　Mary　Mother　of　God）
Tad　had　gone　back　to　that　dazed　state　of　semiconsciousness　again。　This　time　when　she　snapped　her　fingers　in　front　of　his　face　there　was　no　reaction。
He's　going　to　have　some　plexes　out　of　this；　oh　God　yes。　Oh　sweet　Tad；　if　only　Id　left　you　with　Debbie。
She　took　him　by　the　shoulders　and　began　to　shake　him　gently　back　and　forth。
'Is　it　my　nap？'　he　asked　again。
'No〃　she　said。　He　moaned　…a　low；'　painful　sound　that　tore　at　her　heart。　'No；　but　it's　all　right。　Tad？　It's　okay。　That　dog　can't　get　in。　The　windows　are　shut　now。　It　can't　e　in。　It　can't　get　us。'
That　got　through　and　Tad's　eyes　cleared　a　little。　'Then　let's　go　home；　Mommy。　I　don't　want　to　be　here。'
'Yes。　Yes；　we'll　'
Like　a　great　tawny　projectile；　Cujo　leaped　onto　the　hood　of　the　Pinto　and　charged　at　the　windshield；　barking。　Tad　uttered　another　scream；　his　eyes　bulging；　his　small　hands　digging　at　his　cheeks；　leaving　angry　red　welts　there。
'it　can't　get　us！'　Donna　shouted　at　him。　'Do　you　hear　me）　It　can't　get　in；　Tad！'
Cujo　struck　the　windshield　with　a　muffled　thud；　bounced　back；　and　scrabbled　for　purchase　on　the　hood。　He　left　a　series　of　new　scratches　on　the　paint。　Then　he　came　again。
'I　want　to　go　home！'　Tad　screamed。
'Hug　me　tight；　Tadder；　and　don't　worry。'
How　insane　that　sounded　。。。　but　what　else　was　there　to　say？
Tad　buried　his　face　against　her　breasts　just　as　Cujo　struck　the　windshield　again。　Foam　smeared　against　the　glass　as　he　tried　to　bite　his　way　through。　Those　muddled；　bleary　eyes　stared　into　Donna's。　I'm　going　to　pull　you　to　pieces；　they　said。　You　and　the　boy　both。　just　as　soon　as　I　find　a　way　to　get　into　this　tin　can；　I'll　cat　you　alive；　I'll　he　swallowing　pieces　of　you　while　you're　still　screaming。
Rabid；　she　thought。　That　dog　is　rabid。
With　steadily　mounting　fear；　she　looked　past　the　dog　on　the　hood　and　at　Joe　Camber's　parked　truck。　Had　the　dog　bitten　him？
She　found　the　horn　buttons　and　pressed　them。　The　Pinto's　horn　blared　and　the　dog　skittered　back；　again　almost　losing　its　balance。　'Don't　like　that　much；　do　you？'　she　shrieked　triumphantly　at　it。　'Hurts　your　ears；　doesn't　it？'　She　jammed　the　horn　down　again。
Cujo　leaped　off　the　hood。
；Mommy；　pleeease　let's　go　home。'
She　turned　the　key　in　the　ignition。　The　motor　cranked　and　cranked　and　cranked　。。。　but　the　Pinto　did　not　start。　At　last　she　turned　the　key　off　again。
'Honey；　we　can't　go　just　yet。　The　car
'Yes！　Yes！　Now！　Right　now！'
Her　head　began　to　thud。　Big；　whacking　pains　that　were　in　perfect　sync　with　her　heartbeat。
'Tad。　Listen　to　me。　The　car　doesn't　want　to　start。　It's　that　needle　valve　thing。　We've　got　to　wait　until　the　engine　cools　off。　It'll　go　then；　I　think。　We　can　leave。'
All　we　have　to　do　is　get　back　out　of　the　driveway　and　get　pointed　down　the　bill。　Then　it　won't　matter　even　if　it　does　stall；　because　we　can　coast。　If　I　don't　chicken　out　and　bit　the　brake。　I　should　be　able　to　make　it　most　of　the　way　back　to　the　Maple　Sugar　Road　even　with　the　engine　shut　down。
or　。。。
She　thought　of　the　house　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill；　the　one　with　the　honeysuckle　running　wild　all　over　the　east　side。　There　were　people　there。　She　had　seen　cars。
People！
She　began　to　use　the　horn　again。　Three　short　blasts；　three　long　blasts；　three　shorts；　over　and　over；　the　only　Morse　she　remembered　from　her　two　years　in　the　Girl　Scouts。　They　would　hear。　Even　if　they　didn't　understand　the　message；　they　would　e　up　to　see　who　was　raising　bell　at　Joe　Camber's　…　and　why。
Where　was　the　dog？　She　couldn't　see　him　any　more。　But　it　didn't　matter。　The　dog　couldn't　get　in　and　help　would　be　here　shortly。
'Everything's　going　to　be　fine；'　she　told　Tad。　'Wait　and　see。'
A　dirty　brick　building　in　Cambridge　housed　the　offices　of　Image…Eye　Studios。　The　business　offices　were　on　the　fourth　floor；　a　suite　of　two　studios　were　on　the　fifth；　and　a　poorly　air…conditioned　screening　room　only　big　enough　to　hold　sixteen　seats　in　rows　of　four　was　on　the　sixth　and　top　floor。
On　that　early　Monday　evening　Vic　Trenton　and　Roger　Breakstone　sat　in　the　third　row　of　the　screening　room；　jackets　off；　ties　pulled　down。　They　had　watched　the　kinescopes　of　the　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　mercials　five　times　each。　There　were　exactly　twenty　of　them。　Of　the　twenty；　three　were　the　infamous　Red　Razberry　Zingers　spots。
The　last　reel　of　six　spots　had　finished　half　an　hour　ago；　and　the　projectionist　had　called　good　night　and　gone　to　his　evening　job；　which　was　running　films　at　the　Orson　Welles　Cinema。　Fifteen　minutes　later　Rob　Martin；　the　president　of　Image…Eye；　had　bade　them　a　glum　good　night；　adding　that　his　door　would　be　open　to　them　all　day　tomorrow　and　Wednesday；　if　they　needed　him。　He　avoided　what　was　in　all　three　of　their　minds：　The　door'll　be　open　if　you　think　of　something　worth　talking　about。
Rob　had　every　right　to　look　glum。　He　was　a　Vietnam　vet　who　had　lost　a　leg　in　the　Tet　offensive。　He　had　opened　I…E　Studios　in　late　1970　with　his　disability　money　and　a　lot　of　help　from　his　in…laws。　The　studio　had　gasped　and　struggled　along　since　then；　mostly　catching　crumbs　from　that　wellstocked　media　table　at　which　the　larger　Boston　studios　banqueted。　Vic　and　Roger　had　been　taken　with　him　because　he　reminded　them　of　themselves；　in　a　way　…　struggling　to　make　a　90　of　it；　to　get　up　to　that　fabled　er　and　turn　it。　And；　of　course；　Boston　was　good　because　it　was　an　easier　mute　than　New　York。
In　the　last　sixteen　months；　Image…Eye　had　taken　off。　Rob　had　been　able　to　use　the　fact　that　his　studio　was　doing　the　Sharp　spots　to　land　other　business；　and　for　the　first　time　things　had　looked　solid。　In　May；　just　before　the　cereal　had　hit　the　fan；　he　sent　Vic　and　Roger　a　postcard　showing　a　Boston　T…bus　going　away。　On　the　back　were　four　lovely　ladies；　bent　over　to　show　their　fannies；　which　were　encased　in　designer　jeans。　Written　on　the　back　of　the　card；