dk.coldfire-第7章

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　Hope　swept　through　him　but　did　not　still　the　tremors　of　fear　that　had　shaken　him　continuously　since　he　had　found　the　dying　man　in　the　station　wagon。　He　felt　as　if　he　was　going　to　puke。　But　he　had　not　eaten　breakfast　and　had　nothing　to　toss　up。　No　matter　what　the　nutritionists　said；　sometimes　it　paid　to　skip　a　meal。　
　Full　of　deep　shade；　the　concrete　culvert　was　paratively　cool。　
　He　was　tempted　to　stop　and　hide　there…and　hope　they　would　give　up；　go　away。　
　He　couldn't　do　that；　of　course。　He　wasn't　a　coward。　But　even　if　his　conscience　had　allowed　him　to　buy　into　a　little　cowardice　this　time；　the　mysterious　force　driving　him　would　not　permit　him　to　cut　and　run。　To　some　extent；　he　was　a　marionette　on　strings　invisible；　at　the　mercy　of　a　puppeteer　unseen；　in　a　puppet…theater　play　with　a　plot　he　could　not　understand　and　a　theme　that　eluded　him。　
　A　few　tumbleweed　had　found　their　way　into　the　culvert；　and　their　brittle　spines　raked　him　as　he　shoved　through　the　barrier　they　had　formed。　He　came　out　on　the　other　side　of　the　highway；　into　another　arm　of　the　arroyo；　and　scrambled　up　the　wall　of　that　parched　channel。　
　Lying　belly…first　on　the　desert　floor；　he　slithered　to　the　edge　of　the　elevated　roadbed　and　eased　up　to　look　across　the　pavement；　east　toward　the　motor　home。　Beyond　the　Road　king；　he　could　see　the　Camaro　like　a　dead　roach　on　its　back。　The　two　men　were　standing　near　it；　together　now。　
　Evidently；　they　had　just　checked　the　car　and　knew　he　was　not　in　it。　
　They　were　talking　animatedly；　but　they　were　too　far　away　for　Jim　to　hear　what　they　were　saying。　A　couple　of　words　carried　to　him；　but　they　were　faded　by　distance　and　distorted　by　the　furnace…dry　air。　
　Sweat　kept　trickling　into　his　eyes；　blurring　his　vision。　He　blotted　his　face　with　his　sleeve　and　squinted　at　the　men　again。　
　They　were　moving　slowly　away　from　the　Camaro　now；　deeper　into　the　desert。　One　of　them　was　wary；　swiveling　his　head　from　side　to　side；　and　the　other　studied　the　ground　as　they　moved；　no　doubt　searching　for　signs　of　Jim's　passage。　Just　his　luck；　one　of　them　would　turn　out　to　have　been　raised　by　Indian　scouts；　and　they'd　be　all　over　him　faster　than　an　iguana　on　a　sand　beetle。　
　From　the　west　came　the　sound　of　an　engine；　low　at　first　but　growing　rapidly　louder　even　as　Jim　turned　his　head　to　look　in　that　direction。　
　Out　of　a　waterfall　mirage　came　a　Peterbilt。　From　Jim's　low　vantage　point；　the　truck　looked　so　huge　that　it　didn't　even　seem　like　a　truck　but　like　some　futuristic　war　machine　that　had　traveled　backward　in　time　from　the　twenty…second　century。　
　The　driver　of　the　Peterbilt　would　see　the　overturned　Camaro。　In　the　traditional　Samaritan　spirit　that　most　truckers　showed　on　the　road；　he　would　stop　to　offer　assistance。　His　arrival　would　rattle　the　two　killers；　and　while　they　were　distracted；　Jim　would　get　the　drop　on　them。　
　He　had　it　all　figured　out…except　it　didn't　work　that　way。　The　Peterbilt　didn't　slow　as　it　approached；　and　Jim　realized　he　was　going　to　have　to　flag　it　down。　But　before　he　could　even　rise　up；　the　big　truck　swept　past　with　n　dragon　roar　and　a　blast　of　hot　wind；　breaking　the　speed　limit　by　a　Guinness　margin；　as　if　it　were　a　judgment　wagon　driven　by　a　demon　and　loaded　with　souls　that　the　devil　wanted　in　hell　right　now　Jim　fought　the　urge　to　leap　up　and　yell　after　it：　Where's　your　tradition　Samaritan　spirit；　you　shithead？　Silence　returned　to　the　hot　day。　
　On　the　far　side　of　the　road；　the　two　killers　looked　after　the　Peterbilt　for　moment；　then　continued　their　search　for　Jim。　
　Furious　and　scared；　he　eased　back　from　the　shoulder　of　the　highway；　flattened　out　again；　and　belly…crawled　eastward　toward　the　motor　home；　dragging　the　shotgun　with　him。　The　elevated　roadbed　was　between　him　and　them；　they　could　not　possibly　see　him；　yet　he　more　than　half　expected　them　to　sprint　across　the　blacktop　and　pump　half　a　dozen　rounds　into　him　When　he　dared　look　up　again；　he　was　directly　opposite　the　parked　Road　king；　which　blocked　the　two　men　from　his　view。　If　he　couldn't　see　them；　they　couldn't　see　him。　He　scrambled　to　his　feet　and　crossed　the　pavement　to　the　passenger　side　of　the　motor　home。　
　The　door　on　that　flank　was　a　third　of　the　way　from　the　front　bumper　at　the　rear；　not　opposite　the　driver's　door。　It　was　ajar。　
　He　took　hold　of　the　handle。　Then　he　realized　that　a　third　man　might　have　stayed　inside　with　the　woman　and　girl。　He　couldn't　risk　going　in　there　until　he　had　dealt　with　the　two　outside；　for　he　might　be　trapped　between　gunmen。　
　He　moved　to　the　front　of　the　Road　king；　and　just　as　he　reached　the　corner；　he　heard　voices　approaching。　He　froze；　waiting　for　the　guy　with　the　weird　haircut　to　e　around　the　front　bumper。　But　they　stopped　on　the　other　side。　
　〃…who　gives　a　shit？〃　〃…but　he　mighta　seen　our　license　number…〃　〃…chances　are；　he's　bad　hurt…〃　〃…wasn't　no　blood　in　the　car〃　Jim　sank　to　one　knee　by　the　tire；　looked　under　the　vehicle。　They　were　standing　on　the　other　side；　near　the　driver's　door。　
　〃…we　just　take　the　next　southbound…〃　〃…with　cops　on　our　tail〃　〃…by　the　time　he　gets　to　any　cops；　we'll　be　in　Arizona〃　〃…you　hope…〃　〃…I　know…〃　Rising；　moving　cautiously；　Jim　slipped　around　the　front　corner　of　the　Road　king。　He　eased　past　the　first　pair　of　headlights　and　the　engine　hatch　〃…cut　across　Arizona　into　New　Mexico…〃　〃…they　got　cops；　too…〃　〃…into　Texas；　put　a　few　states　between　us；　drive　all　night　if　we　have　to。〃　Jim　was　grateful　that　the　shoulder　of　the　highway　was　dirt　rather　than　loose　gravel。　He　crept　silently　across　it　to　the　driver's…side　headlights；　staying　low。　
　〃…you　know　what　piss…poor　cooperation　they　got　across　state　lines　〃　〃…he's　out　there　somewhere；　damn　it〃　〃…so're　a　million　scorpions　and　rattlesnakes…〃　Jim　stepped　around　to　their　side　of　the　motor　home；　covering　them　with　the　shotgun。　〃Don't　move！〃　For　an　instant　they　gaped　at　him　the　way　he　might　have　stared　at　a　three…eyed　Martian　with　a　mouth　in　its　forehead。　They　were　only　about　eight　feet　away；　close　enough　to　spit　on；　which　they　looked　like　they　deserved。　At　a　distance　they　had　appeared　as　dangerous　as　snakes　with　legs；　and　they　still　looked　deadlier　than　anything　that　slithered　in　the　desert。　
　They　were　holding　their　handguns；　pointed　at　the　ground。　Jim　thrust　the　shotgun　at　them　and　shouted；　〃Drop　'em；　damn　it！〃　Either　they　were　the　hardest　of　hard　cases　or　they　were　nuts…probably　both…because　they　didn't　freeze　at　the　sight　of　the　shotgun。　The　guy　with　the　redoubled　ponytail　flung　himself　to　the　ground　and　rolled。　
　Simultaneously；　the　refugee　from　Road　Warrior　brought　up　his　pistol；　and　Jim　pumped　a　round　into　the　guy's　chest　at　point…blank　range；　blowing　him　backward　and　down　and　all　the　way　to　hell。　
　The　survivor's　feet　vanished　as　he　wriggled　under　the　Road　king。　
　To　avoid　being　shot　in　the　foot　and　ankle；　Jim　grabbed　the　open　door　and　jumped　onto　the　step　beside　the　driver's　seat。　Even　as　his　feet　left　the　ground；　two　shots　boomed　from　under　the　motor　home；　and　one　of　them　punctured　the　tire　beside　which　he'd　been　standing。　
　Instead　of　retreating　into　the　Road　king；　he　dropped　back　to　the　ground；　fell　flat；　and　shoved　the　shotgun　under　the　vehicle；　figuring　to　take　his　adversary　by　surprise。　But　the　guy　was　already　out　from　under　on　the　other　side。　Jim　could　see　only　the　black　cowboy　boots　hurrying　toward　the　rear　of　the　motor　home。　The　guy　turned　the　corner…and　vanished。　
　The　ladder。　At　the　right　rear　corner。　Next　to　the　racked　motorcycle。　
　The　bastard　was　going　onto　the　roof　Jim　hustled　all　the　way　under　the　Road　king　before　the　killer　could　look　over　the　edge　of　the　roof；　spot　him；　and　fire　down。　It　was　no　cooler　beneath　the　vehicle；　because　the　sun…scorched　earthen　shoulder　radiated　the　heat　it　had　been　storing　up　since　dawn。　
　Two　cars　roared　by　on　the　highway；　one　close　after　the　other。　He　hadn't　heard　them　ing；　maybe　because　his　heart　was　beating　so　hard　that　it　felt　as　if　he　were　inside　a　kettle　drum。　He　cursed　the　motorists　under　his　breath；　then　realized　they　couldn't　be　expected　to　stop　when　they　saw　a　guy　like　Dork　Knob　prowling　the　top　of　the　motor　home　with　a　handgun　He　had　a　better　chance　of　winning　if　he　continued　to　do　the　unexpected　so　he　immediately　crawled　on　his　belly；　fast　as　a　marine　under　fire；　to　the　rear　of　the　Road　king。　He　twisted　onto　his　back；　eased　his　head　out　past　the　rear　bumper；　and　peered　up　across　the　Harley；　at　the　ascending　rungs　that　appeared　to　dwindle　into　blazing　white　sun。　
　The　ladder　was　empty。　The　killer　was　already　on　the　roof　He　might　think　that　he　had　temporarily　mystified　his　pursuer　with　his　vanishing　act　and　in　any　case　he　wouldn't　expect　to　be　followed　with　utter　wrecklessness　Jim　slid　all　the　way　into　the　open　and　went　up　the　ladder。　
　He　gripped　the　hot　siderail　with　one　hand；　holding　the　pact　shotgun　with　the　other；　trying　to　ascend　as　soundlessly　as　possible。　His　adversary　was　surprisingly　quiet　on　the　aluminum　surface　above；　making　barely　enough　noises　of　his　own　to　cover　an　occasional　pop　and　squeak　from　the　ladder　rungs　under　Jim's　feet。　
　At　the　top；　Jim　cautiously　raised　his　head　and　squinted　across　the　roof　The　killer　was　two…thirds　of　the　way　toward　the　front　of　the　Road　king；　the　right　side；　looking　down。　He　was　moving　along　on　hands　and　knees　which　must　have　hurt；　although　the　time…stained　white　paint　reflected　a　little　of　the　sun；　it　had　stored　sufficient　heat　to　sting　even　well…callused　hand　and　to　penetrate　blue　denim。　But　if　the　guy　was　in　pain；　he　didn't　show　it。　He　was　evidently　as　suicidally　macho　as　his　dead　buddy　had　been。　
　Jim　eased　up　another　rung。　
　The　killer　actually　lowered　himself　onto　his　belly；　though　the　roof　must　have　scorched　instantly　through　his　thin　T…shirt。　He　was　trying　to　maintain　as　low　a　profile　as　possible；　waiting　for　Jim　to　appear　below。　
　Jim　eased　up　one　more　rung。　The　roof　now　met　him　at　mid…torso。　He　turned　sideways　on　the　ladder　and　jammed　one　knee　behind　the　other　upright；　wedging　himself　in　place　so　he　would　have　both　hands　for　the　shotgun　and　so　the　recoil　would　not　knock　him　backward　to　the　ground　If　the　guy　on　the　roof　didn't　have　a　sixth　sense；　then　he　was　just　damned　lucky。　Jim　had　not　made　a　sound；　but　the　creep　suddenly　glanced　back　over　his　shoulder　and　spotted　him。　
　Cursing；　Jim　swung　the　shotgun　around。　
　The　killer　flung　himself　sideways；　off　the　roof　Without　getting　in　a　shot；　Jim　pulled　his　knee　from　behind　the　upright　and　jumped　from　the　ladder。　He　hit　the　ground　hard　but　kept　his　balance　stepped　around　the　corner　of　the　motor　home；　and　squeezed　off　one　round　But　the　creep　was　already　bolting　through　the　side　door。　At　worst；　he　caught　a　few　pellets　in　one　leg。　Probably　not　even　that。　
　He　was　going　after　the　woman　and　child。　
　Hostages。　
　Or　maybe　he　just　wanted　to　slaughter　them　before　he　was　cut　down　himself　The　past　couple　of　decades　had　seen　the　rise　of　the　vagabond　sociopath；　roaming　the　country；　looking　for　easy　prey；　racking　up　long　lists　of　victims；　attaining　sexual　release　as　much　from　brutal　murder　as　from　rape。　
　In　his　mind；　Jim　heard　the　anguished　voice　of　the　dying　man　in　the　station　wagon：　Lisa。　。　。　Susie。　。　。　My　wife；　daughter。　。　。　
　With　no　time　for　caution；　his　anger　having　grown　greater　than　his　fear；　he　raced　after　the　killer；　through　the　door；　into　the　Ro