js&cs.thebridge-第34章

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　　And　at　911；　things　were　getting　worse　by　the　minute。
　　Dottie　Hamm　had　drained　the　last　of　her　Big　Gulp。
　　The　straw　rasped　against　the　bottom；　probing　for　stray　droplets　of　lukewarm　Coke。　She　was　down　to　her　last　Munchkin。　It　was　beginning　to　look　like　she'd　never　get　any　again。　Nor　would　she　ever　get　to　eat　lunch。　In　fact；　she　hadn't　been　able　to　leave　her　seat　to　so　much　as　pee　for　the　last　three　hours。
　　Dottie　cast　an　anxious　glance　at　Dave；　who　shrugged　and　rolled　his　eyes　as　his　call　screen　lit　up　once　again。　The　calls　that　had　started　as　a　trickle　were　now　a　flash　flood　of　near　record…breaking　weirdness。
　　Because　the　voices　that　clogged　the　lines　were　panic…voices；　frantically　spitting　out　tales　of　fear　and　delirium。
　　Worse　yet；　the　callers　Dottie　checked　out　on　her　video　monitor　didn't　display　mile…long　rap　sheets　of　crankdom。
　　These　were　not　your　chronic　paranoid　freaks。　Most　of　them；　before　today；　had　never　dialed　911　in　their　lives。
　　They　were　just　folks：　ordinary　citizens　calling　in　to　say　their　trees　were　singing；　saying　their　gardens　had　attacked　them；　or　their　dogs　or　kids　had　gone　out　to　play　and　not　e　back。
　　Dottie　was　stumped。　They　were　just　folks。　And　they　were　scared。　Dottie　didn't　blame　them　one　bit。　She　knew　a　few　things　they　didn't。
　　And　she　was　getting　a　little　scared　herself。
　　Because　it　wasn't　every　day　that　you　called　in　police　from　Hellam　Township　and　Paradise　County；　two　fire　panies　and　HazMat；　and　have　every　single　one　of　them　disappear；　now　was　it？
　　It　vexed　her。　One　by　one；　she　called　them　in。　One　by　one；　they　dropped　right　off　the　map。　She　checked　the　lines　again。　The　signal　path　down　to　Hellam　was　a　wall　of　white　noise；　nothing　was　ing　from　within　ten　miles　of　Black　Bridge；　on　any　frequency。
　　It's　like　the　Bermuda　Triangle　popped　up　right　in　our　own　backyard；　she　mused。
　　And　damn　if　it　wasn't　spreading。
　　〃Shame　on　you；　Dottie；〃　she　scolded。　She　looked　at　the　list　of　people　to　call　in　the　event　of　just　such　an　emergency。　Her　bladder　felt　like　a　overfull　water　balloon；　ripe　and　ready　to　burst。　She　punched　in　the　number；　and　waited。
　　This　call　was　definitely　a　first。
　　She　hoped　to　heaven　it　would　be　the　last。
　　
　　
　　　Thirty…Two
　　　
　　〃Ah…hah　。。。　Yes；　I　see　。。。　Yes；　that　is　very　strange。〃
　　Blake；　still　holed　up　in　his　study；　paced　and　spoke　softly　into　the　phone。　〃Have　you　notified　anyone　else？〃
　　Blake's　brow　furrowed　with　concern；　as　every　name　punched　another　hole　in　an　already　leaky　boat。　〃Hmm；〃　he　said。　〃And　HazMat　did　what？　Ah…hah。〃
　　His　headache　was　back；　a　whanging　pulse　in　the　top　of　his　skull。　〃Yes；　I'll　get　right　on　it；〃　he　said；　fighting　every　urge　to　lash　out。　He　grasped　the　heavy　obsidian　glass　paperweight　that　graced　the　corner　of　his　desk　and　squeezed　as　hard　as　he　could。
　　〃Yes；〃　he　said；　as　crisp；　angled　edges　cut　into　soft　finger　skin　and　the　pain　in　his　hand　beat　back　the　pain　in　his　head。　〃Good　job；　Dottie。〃　He　smiled　thinly。　〃Keep　me　up…to…the…minute；　will　you？　Thanks　so　much。〃
　　Blake　rang　off　and　let　go　of　the　paperweight　in　a　simultaneous　release　of　stress。　A　smear　of　blood　slicked　its　surface。
　　〃Shit。〃　Blake　hissed；　pulling　out　his　handkerchief。　He'd　cut　himself；　alright；　a　thin　laceration　on　the　inside　of　the　knuckle　line。　His　handshake　hand；　his　deal…sealing　hand。　But　his　headache　had　abated。　For　now。
　　He　wrapped　the　hanky　around　the　cut　and　paced：　thinking；　thinking。
　　This　was　bad。　Correction：　this　was　beyond　bad。　This　was　a　nightmare。　With　Dottie's　report　of　foul…smelling　water；　isolated　dementia　and　blight　ringing　in　his　ears；　he　became　increasingly　convinced　that　some　sort　of　hallucinogenic　substance　was　involved　in　this　chemical　spill。
　　It　was　a　horrifying　thought；　but　he　could　think　of　no　other　explanation。　For　his　part；　it　would　be　nothing　but　bottled　water　and　spirits　for　the　duration。
　　Meanwhile；　the　odds　on　containment　grew　skimpier　by　the　second。　While　there　was　still　time　to　be　bought；　Blake　continued　to　plug　holes；　he　sat　down　at　his　desk；　flipped　through　his　little　oak　Rolodex　until　he　came　to　Huntington；　Tom。　He　punched　in　the　number　and　waited。
　　Busy。
　　〃Shit！〃　he　spat。　He　hit　the　redial　button。
　　Busy。
　　Blake　cursed　again　and　fed　the　number　into　the　auto…dialer；　punched　send。　As　the　phone　worked；　Blake　gazed　pensively　at　his　surroundings。　He　could　feel　his　window　of　opportunity　narrowing；　and　his　tastefully　appointed　digs　were　feeling　more　prisonlike　by　the　second。
　　Finally；　the　phone　caught；　chiming　a　melodious　little　brrrr　。。。　brrrr　。。。　brrrr　。。。
　　〃Answer　the　phone；　dammit；〃　Werner　said　into　the　mouthpiece。　Then；　〃Tom？　Werner　Blake。　How　are　you；　old　man？〃　Reptile…smiling。　〃Great。　Listen；　I　just　wanted　to　call　and　keep　you　apprised　of　a　situation　mat's　developed。〃
　　Blake　opened　up　his　hand；　studying　the　Rorschach…pattern　of　blood　staining　the　white　linen　hanky。　〃Well；　nothing　too　serious；　we　hope；　but　we're　still　scoping　it　out　。。。　〃
　　He　nodded　his　head；　the　picture　of　corporate　concern。　〃Of　course。　But　handled　wrong；　this　could　impact　adversely　on　mutual　friends。　We'd　like　to　treat　this　with　some　sensitivity；　not　start　a　flap　over　nothing　。。。　〃　Nod；　nod。
　　One　down；　he　thought。　Tom　Huntington　was　nothing　if　not　a　team　player。　Blake　relaxed　behind　the　game；　on　auto…pilot　now。　He　could　finish　this　conversation　in　his　sleep。　〃Ah…hah；〃　he　said。
　　For　some　strange　reason；　even　as　he　spoke；　Rio　kept　ing　to　mind。　Blake　closed　his　eyes　and　could　picture　it：　lush　mountains；　tropical　beaches；　incredibly　beautiful　women；　a　favorable　exchange　rate；　and　a　government　sympathetic　to　economic　opportunity　。。。
　　〃Umm　。。。　Dad？〃
　　Blake's　daydream　vaporized　instantly；　the　voice　behind　him　made　him　turn。　A　long　tall　black…and…white　apparition　hunkered　in　the　doorway；　the　weight　of　the　world　on　its　shoulders。
　　〃Not　now；〃　Blake　soundlessly　mouthed；　impatiently　waving　him　off。
　　The　apparition　was　unmoved。　〃You　plan　on　getting　off　the　phone；　like；　ever？〃
　　〃Hang　on　just　a　second　。。。　thanks；〃　Blake　said　pleasantly　into　the　mouthpiece。　Then　he　cupped　it　in　his　hand　and　glared　venomously　at　his　pride　and　joy；　his　progeny。
　　As　father　and　son　faced　off：　each　the　other's　worst　nightmare；　made　flesh。
　　Garth　Blake　slouched　in　the　doorway；　angular　and　obtuse。　He　was　six…foot…three　and　scarecrow…thin；　and　his　presence　filled　the　room：　a　tidal　wave　of　spiked　black　leather；　big　black　hair；　and　attitude。　His　ash…white　skin　and　sepulchral　pucker　of　ebony　lipstick　did　their　best　to　affront　and　unnerve；　but　they　could　not　conceal　the　ugly　truth。
　　Garth　was　the　spitting　image　of　Blake；　Sr。
　　It　was　a　fact　that　appalled　both　of　them；　but　for　different　reasons。　Garth　possessed　the　same　riveting　gray　eyes；　the　same　innately　upturning　Grinch　smile。　His　face　was　as　yet　unsullied　by　time；　but　Garth　carried　a　premature　gravity　that　rendered　him　sullen　and　pained。　It　was　tough　going　through　life　as　the　privileged　son　of　such　utter　corruption。　His　T…shirt　bore　a　black…and…white　print　of　JFK；　waving　and　grinning；　while　hot　multicolored　inkblood　spewed　explosively　from　his　forehead。　It　was　the　single　most　offensive　T…shirt　Blake　had　ever　seen；　which　explained；　of　course；　why　his　son　had　purchased　two。
　　Garth　loved　his　exploding　Kennedy　T…shirts。　They　spoke　to　him。　Moreover；　they　spoke　on　his　behalf　to　the　world　at　large。　Like　the　black　dove's　foot　earring　dangling　from　his　ear；　the　buzzwords　and　slogos　buttoneered　to　his　lapels：　THROBBING　GRISTLE；　SILENCE　=　DEATH；　THE　SEX　WAS　BETTER　IN　PRISON。
　　Or；　most　specifically；　the　one　stenciled　huge　across　his　black　leather…clad　back：　the　word　future　in　blood…red　letters；　blotted　out　by　the　chalky　white　circle　with　the　diagonal　slash　through　it；　the　universal　negative　symbol　like　a　canceled　stamp　across　it。　It　summed　up　Garth's　attitude　toward　life　very　nicely。
　　NO　FUTURE。
　　That　was　what　Garth　had　to　look　forward　to；　and　boy　was　he　excited。　Only　just　sixteen；　and　already　it　was　over；　or；　even　worse；　it　might　drag　on　like　this　for　years。　A　lifetime　of　hypocrisy；　followed　by　an　ugly　gray　descent　into　middle…aged　decrepitude　and　ultimate　pain…filled　oblivion。
　　Just　like　dear　old　Dad　。。。
　　Garth　cringed　involuntarily。　〃So　can　I　use　the　phone　now？〃　he　inquired。
　　〃No！〃　Blake　hissed　the　word　like　the　first　spit　of　poison　out　a　gas…chamber　vent。　〃Can't　you　see　I'm　busy？〃
　　Garth　groaned；　shrugging　heavily。　〃Aw；　c'mon。　Lydia's　an　hour　and　forty…five　minutes　late。　It'll　only　take　。。。　〃
　　〃Goddammit　。。。　！〃
　　Outside；　a　car　horn　sounded。
　　〃No　problem；　Dad。　Thanks。　You're　a　real　pal。〃
　　Disgust　wadded　like　puke　in　his　throat。　He　split　before　he　got　some　on　the　rug。
　　
　　Leaving　Blake；　for　a　moment；　in　the　grip　of　a　genuine　moral　dilemma。
　　Then　the　front　door　slammed；　and　a　car　engine　gunned。　The　squeal　of　tires　that　followed　relieved　him　of　all　responsibility。　Jesus　Christ；　he　thought。　Maybe　it's　time　to　start　fresh；　after　all　。。。
　　Then　he　returned　to　the　phone；　and　the　matters　at　hand。
　　
　　
　　　Thirty…Three
　　　
　　The　Scuzzbug　was　moving　before　Garth　was　fully　seated。　He　liked　it　that　way。　It　was　more　of　a　challenge。　〃HEY；　DAD！〃　he　hollered；　loud　as　it　got；　out　the　still…open　door。　〃SUCK　MY　SCROTE；　YOU　IMPOSTER！　YOU　ALIEN　SCUM！〃
　　〃I　like　that；〃　Lydia　said；　peeling　out　in　a　fog　bank　of　rubber　and　dust。　With　her　deep　green　eyes；　too…wide　features　and　sidewalled　mane　of　bone…white　hair；　she　looked　like　a　spookycute　nineties　version　of　those　little　troll　dolls　in　the　toy　bins　at　Woolworth。　〃I'm　sure　the　neighbors　will；　too。〃
　　〃ADMIT　THAT　YOU　ARE　AN　IMITATION　POD…MAN！〃　he　continued；　even　louder；　hanging　half　out　the　door　as　the　car　pulled　a　wide　screeching　one…eighty　in　the　crushed　stone　of　the　drive。　〃ADMIT　THAT　YOU　ATE　MY　REAL　FATHER'S　BRAIN！〃
　　They　broke　the　circle；　headed　out　for　the　street。　〃Say　'bye　now；〃　she　said。
　　〃　'BYE　NOW！〃
　　And　then　they　were　off。
　　〃Feeling　better？〃　Lydia　asked　pleasantly。
　　〃You　bet。〃
　　〃I'm　so　pleased；〃　she　deadpanned；　slowing　the　Scuzzbug　to　a　mild…mannered；　law…abiding　crawl　the　moment　she　hit　the　main　road。　On　the　street；　she　couldn't　afford　to　drive　so　crazily；　the　cops　would　pull　her　over　in　a　second。　Even　without　provocation；　cops　pulled　her　over　from　time　to　time；　just　as　a　matter　of　principle。
　　Because　the　infamous　Scuzzbug　of　Lydia　Vickers　was　an　act　of　visual　terrorism　on　wheels。　Like　the　woman　herself；　it　was　born　to　raise　eyebrows　and　frighten　the　natives　of　Paradise。　She　felt　quite　certain　that　no　one　had　ever　seen　its　like　before。　She　knew　she　certainly　hadn't。
　　From　the　inside；　it　was　just　a　beat…to…shit　black　VW　Superbeetle；　pletely　upholstered　in　leopard…skin　print　and　festooned　with　weirdo　stickers。　Funky…cool；　but　not　unheard　of。
　　The　exterior；　however；　was　something　else　again：　covered　bumper　to　bumper　in　a　fetid　gray…green　fuzz；　painful　to　look　at　and　loathsome　to　the　touch。　This　experiential　delight　came　courtesy　of　Lydia's　day　gig；　where　she　worked　on　the　loading　docks　at　the　Yummy　Potato　Chip　pany　in　Hellam。
　　It　seemed　that　the　oiled　soot　emanating　from　the　Yummy　Potato　Chip　smokestacks　would　drift　across　the　parking　lots；　dousing　every　car　in　range　with