sk.dreamcatcher-第134部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！




20

There　was　no　barn；　no　corral；　no　paddock；　and　instead　Of　OUT…OF…STATE　LICS　the　sign　in　the　window　showed　a　photograph　of　the　Quabbin　Reservoir　over　the　legend　BEST　BAIT；　WHY　WAIT？；　but　otherwise　the　little　store　could　have　been　Gosselin's　all　over　again：　same　ratty　siding；　same　mud…brown　shingles；　same　crooked　chimney　dribbling　smoke　into　the　rainy　sky；　same　rusty　gas…pump　out　front。　Another　sign　leaned　against　the　pump；　this　one　reading　NO　GAS　BLAME　THE　RAGHEADS。
　　　　On　that　early　afternoon　in　November　the　store　was　empty　save　for　the　proprietor；　a　gentleman　named　Deke　McCaskell。　Like　most　other　folks；　he　had　spent　the　morning　glued　to　the　TV。　All　the　coverage　（repetitive　stuff；　for　the　most　part；　and　with　that　part　of　the　North　Woods　cordoned　off；　no　good　pictures　of　anything　but　Army；　Navy；　and　Air　Force　hardware）　had　led　up　to　the　President's　speech。　Deke　called　the　President　Okeefenokee；　on　account　of　the　fucked…up　way　he'd　been　elected　…　couldn't　anybody　down　there　fucking　count？　Although　he　had　not　exercised　his　own　option　to　vote　since　the　Gipper　（now　there　had　been　a　President）；　Deke　hated　President　Okeefenokee；　thought　he　was　an　oily；　untrustworthy　motherfucker　with　big　teeth　（good…looking　wife；　though）；　and　he　thought　the　President's　eleven　o'clock　speech　had　been　the　usual　blah…dee…blah。　Deke　didn't　believe　a　word　old　Okeefenokee　said。　In　his　view；　the　whole　thing　was　probably　a　hoax；　scare　tactics　calculated　to　make　the　American　taxpayer　more　willing　to　hike　defense　spending　and　thus　taxes。　There　was　nobody　out　there　in　space；　science　had　proved　it。　The　only　aliens　in　America　（except　for　President　Okeefenokee　himself；　that　was）　were　the　beaners　who　swam　across　the　border　from　Mexico。　But　people　were　scared；　sitting　home　and　watching　TV。　A　few　would　be　in　later　for　beer　or　bottles　of　wine；　but　for　now　the　place　was　as　dead　as　a　cat　run　over　in　the　highway。
　　　　Deke　had　turned　off　the　TV　half　an　hour　ago　…　enough　was　enough；　by　the　Christ　…　and　when　the　bell　over　his　door　jangled　at　quarter　past　one；　he　was　studying　a　magazine　from　the　rack　at　the　back　of　the　store；　where　a　sign　proclaimed　B　21　OR　B　GONE。　This　particular　periodical　was　titled　Lasses　in　Glasses；　a　fair　title　since　all　the　lasses　within　were　wearing　spectacles。　Nothing　else；　but　glasses；　sí。
　　　　He　looked　up　at　the　newer；　started　to　say　something　like　'How　ya　doin'　or　'Roads　gettin　slippery　yet；'　and　then　didn't。　He　felt　a　bolt　of　unease；　followed　by　a　sudden　certainty　that　he　was　going　to　be　robbed　。　。　。　and　if　robbery　was　all；　he'd　be　off　lucky。　He　never　had　been　robbed；　not　in　the　twelve　years　he'd　owned　the　place　…　if　a　fellow　wanted　to　risk　prison　for　a　handful　of　cash；　there　were　places　in　the　area　where　bigger　handfuls　could　be　had。　A　guy　would　have　to　be　。　。　。
　　　　Deke　swallowed。　A　guy　would　have　to　be　crazy；　he'd　been　thinking；　and　maybe　this　guy　was；　maybe　he　was　one　of　those　maniacs　who'd　just　offed　his　whole　family　and　then　decided　to　ramble　around　a　bit；　kill　a　few　more　folks　before　turning　one　of　his　guns　on　himself。
　　　　Deke　wasn't　paranoid　by　nature　（he　was　lumpish　by　nature；　his　ex…wife　would　have　told　you）；　but　that　didn't　change　the　fact　that　he　felt　suddenly　menaced　by　the　afternoon's　first　customer。　He　didn't　care　very　much　for　the　fellows　who　sometimes　turned　up　and　loafed　around　the　store；　talking　about　the　patriots　or　the　Red　Sox　or　telling　stories　about　the　whoppers　they'd　caught　up　to　the　Reservoir；　but　he　wished　for　a　few　of　them　now。　A　whole　gang　of　them；　actually。
　　　　The　man　just　stood　there　inside　the　door　at　first；　and　yeah；　there　was　something　wrong　with　him。　He　was　wearing　an　orange　hunting　coat　and　deer　season　hadn't　started　yet　in　Massachusetts；　but　that　could　have　been　nothing。　What　Deke　didn't　like　were　the　scratches　on　the　man's　face；　as　if　he　had　spent　at　least　some　of　the　last　couple　of　days　going　cross…country　through　the　woods；　and　the　haunted；　drawn　quality　of　the　features　themselves。　His　mouth　was　moving；　as　though　he　was　talking　to　himself。　Something　else；　too。　The　gray　afternoon　light　slanting　in　through　the　dusty　front　window　glinted　oddly　on　his　lips　and　chin。
　　　　That　sonofabitch　is　drooling；　Deke　thought。　Be　goddamned　if　he　ain't。
　　　　The　newer's　head　snapped　around　in　quick　little　tics　while　his　body　remained　perfectly　still；　reminding　Deke　of　the　way　an　owl　remains　perfectly　still　on　its　branch　as　it　looks　for　prey。　Deke　thought　briefly　of　sliding　out　of　his　chair　and　hiding　under　the　counter；　but　before　he　could　do　more　than　begin　to　consider　the　pros　and　cons　of　such　a　move　（not　a　particularly　quick　thinker；　his　ex…wife　would　have　told　you　that；　as　well）；　the　guy's　head　did　another　of　those　quick　flicks　and　was　pointing　right　at　him。
　　　　The　rational　part　of　Deke's　mind　had　been　harboring　the　hope　（it　was　not　quite　an　articulated　idea）　that　he　was　imagining　the　whole　thing；　just　suffering　the　whimwhams　from　all　the　weird　news　and　weirder　rumors；　each　dutifully　reported　by　the　press；　ing　out　of　northern　Maine。　Maybe　this　was　just　a　guy　who　wanted　smokes　or　a　six…pack　or　maybe　a　bottle　of　coffee　brandy　and　a　stroke…book；　something　to　get　him　through　a　long；　sleety　night　in　a　motel　outside　of　Ware　or　Belchertown。
　　　　That　hope　died　when　the　man's　eyes　met　his。
　　　　It　wasn't　the　gaze　of　a　family…murdering　maniac　off　on　his　own　private　cruise　to　nowhere；　it　almost　would　have　been　better　if　that　had　been　the　case。　The　newer's　eyes；　far　from　empty；　were　too　full。　A　million　thoughts　and　ideas　seemed　to　be　crossing　them；　like　one　of　those　big…city　tickertapes　being　run　at　super　speed。　They　seemed　almost　to　be　hopping　in　their　sockets。　　　　　　　
　　　　And　they　were　the　hungriest　eyes　Deke　McCaskell　had　seen　in　his　entire　life。
　　　　'We're　closed；'　Deke　said。　The　words　came　out　in　a　croak　that　didn't　sound　like　his　voice　at　all。　'Me　and　my　partner　…　he's　in　the　back　…　we　closed　for　the　day。　On　account　of　the　goings…on　up　north。　I　…　we；　I　mean　…　just　forgot　to　flip　over　the　sign。　We…'
　　　　He　might　have　run　on　for　hours　…　days；　even　…　but　the　man　in　the　hunting　coat　interrupted　him。　'Bacon；'　he　said。　'Where　is　it？'
　　　　Deke　knew；　suddenly　and　absolutely；　that　if　he　didn't　have　bacon；　this　man　would　kill　him。　He　might　kill　him　anyway；　but　without　bacon　。　。　。　yes；　certainly。　He　did　have　bacon。　Thank　God；　thank　Christ；　thank　Okeefenokee　and　all　the　hopping　ragheads；　he　did　have　bacon。
　　　　'Cooler　in　back；'　he　said　in　his　new；　strange　voice。　The　hand　lying　on　top　of　his　magazine　felt　as　cold　as　a　block　of　ice。　In　his　head；　he　heard　whispering　voices　that　didn't　seem　to　be　his　own。　Red　thoughts　and　black　thoughts。　Hungry　thoughts。
　　　　An　inhuman　voice　asked；　What's　a　cooler？　A　tired　voice；　very　human；　responded：　Go　on　up　the　aisle；　handsome。　You'll　see　it。
　　　　Hearing　voices；　Deke　thought。　Aw；　Jesus；　no。　That's　what　happens　to　people　just　before　they　flip　out。
　　　　The　man　moved　past　Deke　and　up　the　center　aisle。　He　walked　with　a　heavy　limp。　　　　
　　　　There　was　a　phone　by　the　cash…register。　Deke　looked　at　it；　then　looked　away。　It　was　within　reach；　and　he　had　911　on　the　speed…dialer；　but　it　might　as　well　have　been　on　the　moon。　Even　if　he　was　able　to　summon　enough　strength　to　reach　for　the　phone…
　　　　I'll　know；　the　inhuman　voice　said；　and　Deke　let　out　a　breathless　little　moan。　It　was　inside　his　head；　as　if　someone　had　planted　a　radio　in　his　brain。
　　　　There　was　a　convex　mirror　mounted　over　the　door；　a　gadget　that　came　in　especially　handy　in　the　summer；　when　the　store　was　full　of　kids　headed　up　to　the　Reservoir　with　their　parents　the　Quabbin　was　only　eighteen　miles　from　here　…　for　fishing　or　camping　or　just　a　picnic。　Little　bastards　were　always　trying　to　kite　stuff；　particularly　the　candy　and　the　girly　magazines。　Now　Deke　looked　into　it；　watching　with　dread　fascination　as　the　man　in　the　orange　coat　approached　the　cooler。　He　stood　there　a　moment；　gazing　in；　then　grabbed　not　just　one　package　of　bacon　but　all　four　of　them。
　　　　The　man　came　back　down　the　middle　aisle　with　the　bacon；　limping　along　and　scanning　the　shelves。　He　looked　dangerous；　he　looked　hungry；　and　he　also　looked　dreadfully　tired　…　like　a　marathon　runner　going　into　the　last　mile。　Looking　at　him　gave　Deke　the　same　sense　of　vertigo　he　felt　w