sk.cujo-第52章

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　if　it　had　been　bludgeoned；　not　shot。
Then　he　saw　the　head　move。　Not　much　…　only　slightly　…　but　it　had　moved。　The　woman　was　alive。　He　stepped　forward　。　。　and　that　was　when　Cujo's　roar；　followed　by　a　volley　of　snarling　barks　came。　His　first　thought。
（Rusty？）　was　of　his　Irish　setter；　but　he'd　had　Rusty　put　down　four　years　ago；　not　long　after　the　Frank　Dodd　thing。　And　Rusty　had　never　sounded　like　this；　and　for　a　second　crucial　moment；　Bannerman　was　frozen　in　his　tracks　with　a　terribly；　atavistic　horror
He　turned　then；　pulling　his　gun；　and　caught　just　a　blurred　glimpse　of　a　dog　…　an　incredibly　big　dog　…　launching　itself　into　the　air　at　him。　It　struck　him　chest…high；　driving　him　against　the　Pinto's　hatchback。　He　grunted。　His　right　hand　was　driven　up　and　his　wrist　struck　the　chrome　guttering　of　the　hatchback　hard。　His　gun　went　flying。　It　whirled　over　the　top　of　the　car；　butt…for…barrel　and　butt…for…barrel；　to　land　in　the　high　weeds　on　the　other　side　of　the　driveway。
The　dog　was　biting　him；　and　as　Bannerman　saw　the　first　flowers　of　blood　open　on　the　front　of　his　light　blue　shirt；　he　suddenly　understood　everything。　They'd　e　here；　their　car　had　seized　up　。。。　and　the　dog　had　been　here。　The　dog　hadn't　been　in　Masen's　neat　little　point…to…point　analysis。
Bannerman　grappled　with　it；　trying　to　get　his　hands　under　the　dog's　muzzle　and　bring　it　up　and　out　of　his　belly。　There　was　a　sudden　deep　and　numbing　pain　down　there。　His　shirt　was　in　tatters　down　there。　Blood　was　pouring　over　his　pants　in　a　freshet。　He　lurched　forward　and　the　dog　drove　him　back　with　frightening　force；　drove　him　back　against　the　Pinto　with　a　thud　that　rocked　the　little　car　on　its　springs。
He　found　himself　trying　to　remember　if　he　and　his　wife　had　made　love　last　night。
Crazy　thing　to　be　thinking。　Crazy　
The　dog　bored　in　again。　Bannerman　tried　to　dodge　away　but　the　dog　anticipated　him；　it　was　grinning　at　him；　and　suddenly　there　was　more　pain　that　he　had　ever　felt　in　his　life。　It　galvanized　him。　Screaming；　he　got　both　hands　under　the　dog's　muzzle　again　and　yanked　it　up。　For　a　moment；　staring　into　those　dark；　crazed　eyes；　a　swoony　kind　of　horror　came　over　him　and　he　thought：　Hello；　Frank。　It's　you；　isn't　it？　Was　bell　too　hot　for　you？
Then　Cujo　was　snapping　at　his　fingers；　tearing　them；　laying　them　open。　Bannerman　forgot　about　Frank　Dodd。　He　forgot　about　everything　but　trying　to　save　his　life。　He　tried　to　get　his　knee　up；　between　him　and　the　dog；　and　found　he　couldn't。　When　he　tried　to　raise　his　knee；　the　pain　in　his　lower　belly　flared　to　a　sheeting　agony。
What's　he　done　to　me　down　there？　Oh　my　God；　what's　he　done？　Vicky；　Vicky　
Then　the　driver's　side　door　of　the　Pinto　opened。　It　was　the　woman。　He　had　looked　at　the　family　portrait　Steve　Kemp　had　stepped　on　and　had　seen　a　pretty；　neatly　coiffed　woman；　the　sort　you　look　at　twice　on　the　street；　the　second　look　being　mildly　speculative。　You　saw　a　woman　like　that　and　you　thought　that　her　husband　was　lucky　to　have　her　in　the　kip。
This　woman　was　a　ruin。　The　dog　had　been　at　her　as　well。　Her　belly　was　streaked　with　dried　blood。　One　leg　of　her　jeans　had　been　chewed　away；　and　there　was　a　sopping　bandage　just　over　her　knee。　But　her　face　was　the　worst；　it　was　like　a　hideous　baked　apple。　Her　forehead　had　blistered　and　peeled。　Her　lips　were　cracked　and　suppurating。　Her　eyes　were　sunken　in　deep　purple　pouches　of　flesh。
The　dog　left　Bannerman　in　a　flash　and　advanced　on　the　woman；　stiff…legged　and　growling。　She　retreated　into　the　car　and　slammed　the　door。
（cruiser　now　got　to　call　in　got　to　call　this　in）
He　turned　and　ran　back　to　the　cruiser。　The　dog　chased　him　but　he　outran　it。　He　slammed　the　door；　grabbed　the　mike；　and　called　for　help；　Code　3；　officer　needs　assistance。　Help　came。　The　dog　was　shot。　They　were　all　saved。
All　of　this　happened　in　just　three　seconds；　and　only　in　George　Bannerman's　mind。　As　he　turned　to　go　back　to　his　police　cruiser；　his　legs　gave　out　and　spilled　him　into　the　driveway。
（Oh　Vicky　what's　be　done　to　me　down　there？）
The　world　was　all　dazzling　sun。　It　was　hard　to　see。　Bannerman　scrambled；　clawed　at　the　gravel；　and　finally　made　it　to　his　knees。　He　looked　down。　at　himself　and　saw　a　thick　gray　rope　of　intestine　hanging　out　of　his　tattered　shirt。　His　pants　were　soaked　with　blood　to　both　knees。
Enough。　The　dog　had　done　enough　to　him　down　there。
Hold　your　guts　in；　Bannerman。　If　you're　stepping　out；　you're　stepping　out。　But　not　until　you　get　to　that　fucking　mike　and　call　this　in。　Hold　your　guts　in　and　get　on　your　big　Pat　feet　
（the　kid　jesus　her　kid　is　her　kid　in　there？）
That　made　him　think　of　his　own　daughter；　Katrina；　who　would　be　going　into　the　seventh　grade　this　year。　She　was　getting　breasts　now。　Being　quite　the　little　lady。　Piano　lessons。　Wanted　a　horse。　There　had　been　a　day　when；　if　she　had　crossed　from　the　school　to　the　library　alone；　Dodd　would　have　had　her　instead　of　Mary　Kate　Hendrasen。　When　
（move　your　ass）
Bannerman　got　to　his　feet。　Everything　was　sunshine　and　brightness　and　all　his　insides　seemed　to　want　to　slip　out　of　the　hole　the　dog　had　torn　in　him。　The　car。　The　police　radio。　Behind　him；　the　dog　was　distracted；　he　was　throwing　himself　crazily　against　the　Pinto's　buckled　driver's　side　door　again　and　again；　barking　and　snarling。
Bannerman　staggered　toward　the　cruiser。　His　face　was　as　white　as　pie　dough。　His　lips　were　blue　gray。　It　was　the　biggest　dog　he　had　ever　seen；　and　it　had　gutted　him。　Gutted　him；　for　Christ's　sake；　and　why　was　everything　so　hot　and　bright？
His　intestines　were　slipping　through　his　fingers。
He　reached　the　car　door。　He　could　hear　the　radio　under　the　dash；　crackling　out　its　message。　Should　have　called　in　first。　That's　procedure。　You　never　argue　with　procedure；　but　if　I'd　believed　that；　I　never　would　have　called　Smith　in　the　Dodd　case。　Vicky；　Katrina；　I'm　sorry　
The　boy。　He　had　to　get　help　for　the　boy。
He　almost　fell　and　grabbed　the　edge　of　the　door　for　support。
And　then　he　heard　the　dog　ing　for　him　and　he　began　to　scream　again。　He　tried　to　hurry。　If　he　could　only　get　the　door　shut　。。。　oh；　God；　if　only　he　could　close　the　door　before　the　dog　got　to　him　again　。。。　oh；　God　。。。
（oh　GOD）
Tad　was　screaming　again；　screaming　and　clawing　at　his　face；　whipping　his　head　from　side　to　side　as　Cujo　thudded　against　the　door；　making　it　rock。
'Tad；　don't！　Don't　。。。　honey；　please　don't！'
'Want　Daddy　。。。　want　Daddy　。。。　want　Daddy。。。'
Suddenly　it　stopped。
Holding　Tad　against　her　breasts；　Donna　turned　her　head　in　time　to　see　Cujo　strike　the　man　as　he　tried　to　swing　into　his　car。　The　force　of　it　knocked　his　hand　loose　from　the　door。
After　that　she　couldn't　watch。　She　wished　she　could　block　her　ears　somehow　as　well；　from　the　sounds　of　Cujo　finishing　with　whoever　it　had　been。
He　bid；　she　thought　hysterically。　He　heard　the　car　ing　and　he　hid。
The　porch　door。　Now　was　the　time　to　go　for　the　porch　door　while　Cujo　was　。。。　was　occupied。
She　put　her　hand　on　the　doorhandle；　yanked　it；　and　shoved。　Nothing　happened。　The　door　wouldn't　open。　Cujo　had　finally　buckled　the　frame　enough　to　seal　it　shut。
'Tad；'　she　whispered　feverishly。　'Tad；　change　places　with　me；　quick。　Tad？　Tad？'
Tad　was　shivering　all　over。　His　eyes　had　rolled　up　again。
'Ducks；'　he　said　gutturally。　'Go　see　the　ducks。　Monster　Words。　Daddy。　Ah　。。。　ahh。。。　ahhhhhhh…'
He　was　convulsing　again。　His　arms　flopped　bonelessly。　She　began　to　shake　him；　crying　his　name　over　and　over　again；　trying　to　keep　his　mouth　open；　trying　to　keep　the　airway　open。　There　was　a　monstrous　buzzing　in　her　head　and　she　began　to　be　afraid　that　she　was　going　to　faint。　This　was　hell；　they　were　in　hell。　The　morning　sun　streamed　into　the　car；　creating　the　greenhouse　effect；　dry　and　remorseless。
At　last　Tad　quieted。　His　eyes　had　closed　again。　His　breathing　was　very　rapid　and　shallow。　When　she　put　her　fingers　on　his　wrist　she　found　a　runaway　pulse；　weak；　thready；　and　irregular。
She　looked　outside。　Cujo　had　hold　of　the　man's　arm　and　was　shaking　it　in　the　way　a　puppy　will　shake　a　rag　toy。　Every　now　and　then　he　would　pounce　on　the　limp　body。　The　blood　。。。　there　was　so　much　blood。
As　if　aware　he　was　being　observed；　Cujo　looked　up；　his　muzzle　dripping。　He　looked　at　her　with　an　expression　（could　a　dog　have　an　expression？　she　wondered　madly）　that　seemed　to　convey　both　sternness　and　pity　。。。　and　again　Donna　had　the　feeling　that　they　had　e　to　know　each　other　intimately；　and　that　there　could　be　no　stopping　or　resting　for　either　of　them　until　they　had　explored　this　terrible　relationship　to　some　ultimate　conclusion。
It　pounced　on　the　man　in　the　blood…spattered　blue　shirt　and　the　khaki　pants　again。　The　dead　man's　head　lolled　on　his　neck。　She　looked　away；　her　empty　stomach　sour　with　hot　acid。　Her　torn　leg　ached　and　throbbed。　She　had　torn　the　wound　there　open　yet　again。
Tad　。。。　how　was　he　now？
He's　terrible；　her　mind　answered　inexorably。　So　what　are　you　going　to　do？　You're　his　mother；　what　are　you　going　to　do？
What　could　she　do？　Would　it　help　Tad　if　she　went　out　there　and　got　herself　killed？
The　policeman。　Someone　had　sent　the　policeman　up　here。　And　when　he　didn't　e　back　'Please；'　she　croaked。　'Soon；　please。'
It　was　eight　o'clock　now；　and　outside　it　was　still　relatively　cool　…　77　degrees。　By　noon；　the　recorded　temperature　at　the　Portland　jetport　would　be　102；　a　new　record　for　that　date。
Townsend　and　Andy　Masen　arrived　at　the　State　Police　barracks　in　Scarborough　at　8：30　A。M。　Masen　let　Townsend　run　with　the　ball。　This　was　his　bailiwick；　not　Masen's；　and　there　was　not　a　thing　wrong　with　Andy's　ears。
The　duty　officer　told　them　that　Steven　Kemp　was　on　his　way　back　to　Maine。　There　had　been　no　problem　about　that；　but　Kemp　still　wasn't　talking。　His　van　had　been　given　a　thorough　going…over　by　Massachusetts　lab　technicians　and　forensic　experts。　Nothing　had　turned　up　which　might　indicate　a　woman　and　a　boy　had　been　held　in　the　back；　but　they　had　found　a　nice　little　pharmacy　in　the　van's　wheel　well　…　marijuana；　some　cocaine　in　an　Anacin　bottle；　three　amyl　nitrate　poppers；　and　two　speedy　binations　of　the　type　known　as　Black　Beauties。　It　gave　them　a　handy　hook　to　hang　Mr。　Kemp　on　for　the　time　being。
'That　Pinto；'　Andy　said　to　Townsend；　bringing　them　each　a　cup　of　coffee。　'Where's　that　fucking　Pinto　of　hers？'
Townsend　shook　his　head。
'Has　Bannerman　called　anything　in？'
'Nope。'
'Well；　give　him　a　shout。　Tell　him　I　want　him　down　here　when　they　bring　Kemp　in。　It's　his　jurisiction；　and　I　guess　he's　got　to　be　the　questioning　officer。　Technically；　at　least。'
Townsend　came　back　five　minutes　later　looking　puzzled。　'I　can't　get　him；　Mr。　Masen。　Their　dispatcher's　tried　him　and　says　he　must　not　be　in　his　car。'
'Christ；　he's　probably　having　coffee　down　at　the　Cozy　Corner。　Well；　fuck　him。　He's　out　of　it。'　Andy　Masen　lit　a　fresh　Pall　Mall；　coughed；　and　then　grinned　at　Townsend。　'Think　we　can　handle　this　Kemp　without　him？'
Townsend　smiled　back。　'Oh；　I　think　we　can　manage。'
Masen　nodded。　'This　thing　is　starting　to　look　bad；　Mr。　Townsend。　Very　bad。'
'It's　not　good。'
'I'm　beginning　to　wonder　if　this　Kemp　didn't　bury　them　in　the　ditch　beside　some　farm　road　between　Castle　Rock　and　Twickenham。'　Masen　smiled　again。　'But　we'll　crack　him；　Mr。　Townsend。　I've　cracked　tough　nuts　before　this。'
'Yessir；'　Townsend　said　respectfully。　He　believed　Masen　had。
'We'll　crack　him　if　we　have　to　sit　him　in　this　office　and　sweat　him