sk.dreamcatcher-第87章

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　who　knew　what　might　happen　if　they　got　into　a　game　of　bumper　cars？
　　　　'Stay　on　the　pike；　laddie；'　Kurtz　said；　settling　back。　'Eyes　on　the　prize。'　Still；　he　watched　the　plow　angling　off　into　the　frigid；　windy　morning　with　real　regret。　He　couldn't　even　hope　the　damn　Yankee　had　caught　a　hot　dose　from　Freddy　and　Archie　Perlmutter；　because　the　stuff　didn't　last。
　　　　They　went　on；　speed　dropping　back　to　twenty　in　the　drifts；　but　Kurtz　guessed　conditions　would　improve　as　they　got　farther　south。　The　storm　was　almost　over。
　　　　'And　congratulations；'　he　told　Freddy。
　　　　'Huh？'
　　　　Kurtz　patted　him　on　the　shoulder。　'You　appear　to　be　getting　better。'　He　turned　to　Perlmutter。　'I　don't　know　about　you；　laddie…buck。'


11

A　hundred　miles　north　of　Kurtz's　position　and　less　than　two　miles　from　the　junction　of　back　roads　where　Henry　had　been　taken；　the　new　mander　of　the　Imperial　Valleys　…　a　woman　of　severe　good　looks；　in　her　late　forties　…　stood　beside　a　pine　tree　in　a　valley　which　had　been　code…named　Clean　Sweep　One。　Clean　Sweep　One　was；　quite　literally；　a　valley　of　death。　Piled　along　its　length　were　heaps　of　tangled　bodies；　most　wearing　hunter　orange。　There　were　over　a　hundred　in　all。　If　the　corpses　had　ID；　it　had　been　taped　around　their　necks。　The　majority　of　the　dead　were　wearing　their　driver's　licenses；　but　there　were　also　Visa　and　Discover　cards；　Blue　Cross　cards；　and　hunting　licenses。　One　woman　with　a　large　black　hole　in　her　forehead　had　been　tagged　with　her　Blockbuster　Video　card。
　　　　Standing　beside　the　largest　pile　of　bodies；　Kate　Gallagher　was　finishing　a　rough　tally　before　writing　her　second　report。　In　one　hand　she　held　a　Palm　Pilot　puter；　a　tool　that　Adolf　Eichmann；　that　famous　accountant　of　the　dead；　would　certainly　have　envied。　The　Pilots　hadn't　worked　earlier；　but　now　most　of　the　cool　electronics　gear　seemed　to　be　back　on…line。
　　　　Kate　wore　earphones　and　a　mike　suspended　in　front　of　her　mouth…and…nose　mask。　Occasionally　she　would　ask　someone　for　clarification　or　give　an　order。　Kurtz　had　chosen　a　successor　who　was　both　enthusiastic　and　efficient。　Totting　up　the　bodies　here　and　elsewhere；　Gallagher　estimated　that　they　had　bagged　at　least　sixty　per　cent　of　the　escapees。　The　John　Q's　had　fought；　which　was　certainly　a　surprise；　but　in　the　long　run；　most　of　them　just　weren't　survivors。　It　was　as　simple　as　that。
　　　　'Yo；　Katie…Kate。'
　　　　Jocelyn　McAvoy　appeared　through　the　trees　at　the　south　end　of　the　valley；　her　hood　pushed　back；　her　short　hair　covered　by　a　scarf　of　green　silk；　her　burp…gun　slung　over　her　shoulder。　There　was　a　splash　of　blood　across　the　front　of　her　parka。　　　
　　　　'Scared　you；　didn't　I？'　she　asked　the　new　OIC。
　　　　'You　might　have　raised　my　blood　pressure　a　point　or　two。'
　　　　'Well；　Quadrant　Four　is　clear；　maybe　that'll　lower　it　a　little。'　McAvoy's　eyes　sparkled。　'We　got　over　forty。　Jackson　has　got　hard　numbers　for　you；　and　speaking　of　hard；　right　about　now　I　could　really　use　a　hard…'
　　　　'Excuse　me？　Ladies？'
　　　　They　turned。　Emerging　from　the　snow…covered　brush　at　the　north　end　of　the　valley　was　a　group　of　half　a　dozen　men　and　two　women。　Most　were　wearing　orange；　but　their　leader　was　a　squat　tugboat　of　a　man　wearing　a　regulation　Blue　Group　coverall　under　his　parka。　He　was　also　still　wearing　his　transparent　face…mask；　although　below　his　mouth　there　was　a　Ripley　soul…patch　which　was　definitely　non…reg。　All　of　the　newers　had　automatic　weapons。
　　　　Gallagher　and　McAvoy　had　time　to　exchange　a　single　wide…eyed；　caught…with…our…pants…down　look。　Then　Jocelyn　McAvoy　went　for　her　burp…gun　and　Kate　Gallagher　went　for　the　Browning　she　had　propped　against　the　tree。　Neither　of　them　made　it。　The　thunder　of　the　guns　was　deafening。　McAvoy　was　thrown　nearly　twenty　feet　through　the　air。　One　of　her　boots　came　off。
　　　　'That's　for　Larry！'　one　of　the　orange…clad　women　was　screaming。　'That's　for　Larry；　you　bitches；　that's　for　Larry！'


12

When　the　shooting　was　over；　the　squat　man　with　the　Ripley　goatee　assembled　his　group　near　the　facedown　corpse　of　Kate　Gallagher；　who　had　graduated　ninth　in　her　class　at　West　Point　before　running　afoul　of　the　disease　that　was　Kurtz。　The　squat　man　had　appropriated　her　gun；　which　was　better　than　his　own。
　　　　'I'm　a　firm　believer　in　democracy；'　he　said；　'and　you　folks　can　do　what　you　want；　but　I'm　heading　north　now。　I　don't　know　how　long　it'll　take　me　to　learn　the　words　to　〃O　Canada〃；　but　I'm　going　to　find　out。'
　　　　'I'm　going　with　you；'　one　of　the　men　said；　and　it　quickly　became　apparent　that　they　were　all　going　with　him。　Before　they　left　the　clearing　the　leader　bent　down　and　plucked　the　Palm　Pilot　out　of　a　snowdrift。　　　
　　　　'Always　wanted　one　of　these；'　said　Emil　'Dawg'　Brodsky。　'I'm　a　sucker　for　the　new　technology。'
　　　　They　left　the　valley　of　death　from　the　direction　they'd　entered　it；　heading　north。　From　around　them　came　isolated　pops　and　bursts　of　gunfire；　but　for　all　practical　purposes；　Operation　Clean　Sweep　was　also　over。


13

Mr　Gray　had　mitted　another　murder　and　stolen　another　vehicle；　this　time　a　DPW　plow。　Jonesy　didn't　see　it　happen。　Mr　Gray；　having　apparently　decided　he　couldn't　get　Jonesy　out　of　his　office　（not；　at　least；　until　he　could　devote　all　his　time　and　energy　to　the　problem）；　had　decided　to　do　the　next　best　thing；　which　was　to　wall　him　off　from　the　outside　world。　Jonesy　now　thought　he　knew　how　Fortunato　must　have　felt　when　Montresor　bricked　him　up　in　the　wine…cellar。
　　　　It　happened　not　long　after　Mr　Gray　put　the　State　Trooper's　car　back　in　the　turnpike's　southbound　lane　（there　was　just　the　one；　at　least　for　the　time　being；　and　that　was　treacherous）。　Jonesy　was　in　a　closet　at　the　time；　following　up　what　seemed　to　him　to　be　an　absolutely　brilliant　idea。
　　　　Mr　Gray　had　cut　off　his　telephone　service？　Okay；　he　would　simply　create　a　new　form　of　munication；　as　he　had　created　a　thermostat　to　cool　the　place　down　when　Mr　Gray　tried　to　force　him　out　by　overloading　him　with　heat。　A　fax　machine　would　be　just　the　thing；　he　decided。　And　why　not？　All　the　gadgets　were　symbolic；　only　visualizations　to　help　him　first　focus　and　then　exercise　powers　that　had　been　in　him　for　over　twenty　years。　Mr　Gray　had　sensed　those　powers；　and　after　his　initial　dismay　had　moved　very　efficiently　to　keep　Jonesy　from　using　them。　The　trick　was　to　keep　finding　ways　around　Mr　Gray's　roadblocks；　just　as　Mr　Gray　himself　kept　finding　ways　to　move　south。
　　　　Jonesy　closed　his　eyes　and　visualized　a　fax　like　the　one　in　the　History　Department　office；　only　he　put　it　in　the　closet　of　his　new　office。　Then；　feeling　like　Aladdin　rubbing　the　magic　lamp　（only　the　number　of　wishes　he　was　granted　seemed　infinite；　as　long　as　he　didn't　get　carried　away）；　he　also　visualized　a　stack　of　paper　and　a　Berol　Black　Beauty　pencil　lying　beside　it。　Then　he　went　into　the　closet　to　see　how　he'd　done。
　　　　Pretty　well；　it　appeared　at　first　glance　。　。　。　although　the　pencil　was　a　tad　eerie；　brand…new　and　sharpened　to　a　virgin　point；　but　still　gnawed　all　along　the　barrel。　Yet　that　was　as　it　should　be；　wasn't　it？　Beaver　was　the　one　who　had　used　Black　Beauty　pencils；　even　way　back　in　Witcham　Street　Grammar。　The　rest　of　them　had　carried　the　more　standard　yellow　Eberhard　Fabers。
　　　　The　fax　looked　perfect；　sitting　there　on　the　floor　beneath　a　dangle　of　empty　coathangers　and　one　　jacket　（the　bright　orange　parka　his　mother　had　bought　him　for　his　first　hunting　trip；　then　made　him　promise　…　with　his　hand　over　his　heart　…　to　wear　every　single　moment　he　was　out　of　doors）；　and　it　was　humming　in　an　encouraging　way。
　　　　Disappointment　set　in　when　he　knelt　in　front　of　it　and　read　the　message　in　the　lighted　window：　GIVE　UP　JONESY　E　OUT。
　　　　He　picked　up　the　phone　on　the　side　of　the　machine　and　heard　Mr　Gray's　recorded　voice：　'Give　up；　Jonesy；　e　out。　Give　up；　Jonesy；　e　o…'
　　　　A　series　of　violent　bangs；　almost　as　loud　as　thunderclaps；　made　him　cry　out　and　jump　to　his　feet。　His　first　thought　was　that　Mr　Gray　was　using　one　of　those　SWAT　squad　door…busters；　battering　his　way　in。
　　　　It　wasn't　the　door；　though。　It　was　the　window；　and　in　some　ways　that　was　even　worse。　Mr　Gray　had　put　industrial　gray　shutters　steel；　they　looked　like　…　across　his　window。　Now　he　wasn't　just　imprisoned；　he　was　blind；　as　well。
　　　　Written　across　the　inside；　easily　readable　through　the　glass：　GIVE　UP　E　OUT。　Jonesy　had　a　brief　memory　of　The　Wizard　of　Oz　…　SURRENDER　DOROTHY　Written　across　the　sky　…　and　wanted　to　laugh。　He　couldn't。　Nothing　was　funny；　nothing　was　ironic。　This　was　horrible。
　　　　'No！'　he　shouted。　'Take　them　down！　Take　them　down；　damn　you！'
　　　　No　answer。　Jonesy　raised　his　hands；　meaning　to　shatter　the　glass　and　beat　on　the　steel　shutters　beyond；　then　thought；　Are　you　crazy？　That's　what　he　wants！　The　minute　you　break　the　glass；　those　shutters　disappear　and　Mr　Gray　is　in　here。　And　you're　gone；　buddy。
　　　　He　was　aware　of　movement　…　the　heavy　rumble　of　the　plow。　　　　
　　　　Where　were　they　by　now？　Waterville？　Augusta？　Even　farther　south？　Into　the　zone　where　the　precip　had　fallen　as　rain？　No；　probably　not；　Mr　Gray　would　have　switched　the　plow　for　something　faster　if　they　had　gotten　clear　of　the　snow。　But　they　would　be　clear　of　it；　and　soon。　Because　they　were　going　south。
　　　　Going　where？
　　　　I　might　as　well　be　dead　already；　Jonesy　thought；　looking　disconsolately　at　the　closed　shutter　with　its　taunt　of　a　message。　I　might　as　well　be　dead　right　now。


14

In　the　end　it　was　Owen　who　took　Roberta　Cavell　by　the　arms　and　…　with　one　eye　on　the　racing　clock；　all　too　aware　that　every　minute　and　a　half　brought　Kurtz　a　mile　closer　…　told　her　why　they　had　to　take　Duddits；　no　matter　how　ill　he　was。　Even　in　these　circumstances；　Henry　didn't　know　if　he　could　have　uttered　the　phrase　fate　of　the　world　may　depend　on　it　with　a　straight　face。　Underhill；　who　had　spent　his　life　carrying　a　gun　for　his　country；　could　and　did。
　　　　Duddits　stood　with　his　arm　around　Henry；　staring　raptly　down　at　him　with　his　brilliant　green　eyes。　Those　eyes；　at　least；　had　not　changed。　Nor　had　the　feeling　they'd　always　had　when　around　Duddits　…　that　things　were　either　perfectly　all　right　or　soon　would　be。
　　　　Roberta　looked　at　Owen；　her　face　seeming　to　grow　older　with　every　sentence　he　spoke。　It　was　as　if　some　malign　time…lapse　photography　were　at　work。
　　　　'Yes；'　she　said；　'yes；　I　understand　you　want　to　find　Jonesy　…　to　catch　him　…　but　what　does　he　want　to　do？　And　if　he　came　here；　why　didn't　he　do　it　here？'
　　　　'Ma'am；　I　can't　answer　those　questions…'
　　　　'War；'　Duddits　said　suddenly。　'Onesy　ont　war。'
　　　　War？　Owen's　mind　asked　Henry；　alarmed。　What　war？
　　　　Never　mind；　Henry　responded；　and　all　at　once　the　voice　in　Owen's　head　was　faint；　hard　to　hear。　We　have　to　go。
　　　　'Ma'am。　Mrs　Cavell。'　Owen　took　her　arms　again；　very　gently。　Henry　loved　this　woman　a　lot；　although　he　had　ignored　her　quite　cruelly　over　the　last　dozen　years　or　so；　and　Owen　knew　why　he'd　loved　her。　It　came　off　her　like　a　sweet　smoke。　'We　have　to　go。'
　　　　'No。　Oh　please　say　no。'　The　tears　ing　again。　Don't　do　that；　lady；　Owen　wanted　to　say。　Things　are　bad　enough　already。　Please　don't　do　that。
　　　　'There's　a　man　ing。　A　very　bad　man。　We　have　to　be　gone　when　he　gets　here。'
　　　　Roberta's　distracted；　sorrowing　face　filled　with　resolution。　'All　right；　then。　If　you　have　to。　But　I'm　ing　with　you。'
　　　　'Roberta；　no；'　Henry　said。
　　　　'Yes！