sk.dreamcatcher-第21部分

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　　　　'I　don't　know；'　Henry　said。　The　only　things　he　knew　for　sure　were　that　the　woman's　eyes　had　gone　blank　again　and　that　they　were　in　a　goddam　situation　here。　Had　he　been　alone；　he　might　have　considered　sitting　down　next　to　the　woman　and　putting　his　arm　around　her　…　a　much　more　interesting　and　unique　answer　to　the　final　problem　than　the　Hemingway　Solution。　But　there　was　Pete　to　think　about　…　Pete　hadn't　even　been　through　his　first　alcohol　rehab　yet；　although　that　was　undoubtedly　in　the　cards。
　　　　And　besides；　he　was　curious。


4

Pete　was　sitting　in　the　snow；　working　at　his　knee　again　with　his　hands；　looking　at　Henry；　waiting　for　him　to　do　something；　which　was　fair　enough；　since　so　often　he　had　been　the　idea　man　of　their　quartet。　They　hadn't　had　a　leader；　but　Henry　had　been　the　closest　thing　to　it。　Even　back　in　junior　high　school　that　had　been　true。　The　woman；　meanwhile；　was　looking　at　no　one；　just　staring　off　into　the　snow　again。
　　　　Settle；　Henry　thought。　Just　take　a　deep　breath　and　settle。
　　　　He　took　the　breath；　held　it；　and　let　it　out。　Better。　A　little　better。　All　right；　what　was　up　with　this　lady？　Never　mind　where　she'd　e　from；　what　she　was　doing　here；　or　why　she　smelled　like　diluted　antifreeze　when　she　burped。　What　was　up　with　her　right　now？
　　　　Shock；　obviously。　Shock　so　deep　it　was　like　a　form　of　catatonia　…　witness　how　she　had　not　so　much　as　stirred　when　the　Scout　went　skidding　by　her　at　shaving　distance。　And　yet　she　hadn't　retreated　so　far　inside　that　only　a　hypo　of　something　excitable　could　reach　her；　she　had　responded　to　the　snap　of　his　fingers；　and　she　had　spoken。　Had　inquired　about　someone　named　Rick。
　　　　'Henry…'
　　　　'Quiet　a　minute。'
　　　　He　took　off　his　gloves　again；　held　his　hands　in　front　of　her　face；　and　clapped　them　smartly。　He　thought　the　sound　very　small　pared　to　the　steady　whoosh　of　the　wind　in　the　trees；　but　she　blinked　again。
　　　　'On　your　feet！'
　　　　Henry　took　her　gloved　hands　and　was　encouraged　when　they　closed　reflexively　around　his。　He　leaned　forward；　getting　into　her　face；　smelling　that　ethery　odor。　No　one　who　smelled　like　that　could　be　very　well。
　　　　'On　your　feet；　get　up！　With　me！　On　three！　One；　two；　three！'
　　　　He　stood；　holding　her　hands。　She　rose；　her　knees　popping；　and　burped　again。　She　broke　wind　again　as　well。　Her　hat　went　askew；　dipping　over　one　eye。　When　she　made　no　move　to　straighten　it；　Henry　said。　'Fix　her　hat。'
　　　　'Hub？'　Pete　had　also　gotten　up；　although　he　didn't　look　very　steady。
　　　　'I　don't　want　to　let　go　of　her。　Fix　her　hat；　get　it　out　of　her　eye。'
　　　　Gingerly；　Pete　reached　out　and　straightened　her　hat。　The　woman　bent　slightly；　grimaced；　farted。
　　　　'Thank　you　very　much；'　Pete　said　sourly。　'You've　been　a　wonderful　audience；　good　night。'
　　　　Henry　could　feel　her　sagging　and　tightened　his　grip。
　　　　'Walk！'　he　shouted；　getting　into　her　face　again。　'Walk　with　me！
　　　　On　three！　One；　two；　three！'
　　　　He　began　walking　backwards；　toward　the　front　of　the　Scout。　She　was　looking　at　him　now　and　he　held　her　gaze。　Without　glancing　at　Pete　…　he　didn't　want　to　risk　losing　her　…　he　said；　'Take　my　belt。　Lead　me。'
　　　　'Where？'
　　　　'Around　the　other　side　of　the　Scout。'
　　　　'I'm　not　sure　I　can…'
　　　　'You　have　to；　Pete；　now　do　it。'
　　　　For　a　moment　there　was　nothing；　and　then　he　felt　Pete's　hand　slip　under　his　coat；　fumble；　and　catch　hold　of　his　belt。　They　shuffled　across　the　narrow　string　of　road　in　an　awkward　conga…line；　through　the　staring　yellow　spotlight　of　the　Scout's　remaining　headlamp。　On　the　far　side　of　the　overturned　vehicle　they　were　at　least　partly　sheltered　from　the　wind；　and　that　was　good。
　　　　The　woman　abruptly　pulled　her　hands　out　of　Henry's　and　leaned　forward；　mouth　opening。　Henry　stepped　back；　not　wanting　to　be　splattered　when　she　let　go　。　。　。　but　instead　of　vomiting　she　belched；　the　loudest　one　yet。　Then；　while　still　bent　over；　she　broke　wind　again。　The　sound　was　like　nothing　Henry　had　ever　heard　before；　and　he　would　have　sworn　he'd　heard　everything　on　the　wards　in　western　Massachusetts。　She　kept　her　feet；　though；　breathing　through　her　nose　in　big　horselike　snuffles　of　air。
　　　　'Henry；'　Pete　said。　His　voice　was　hoarse　with　terror；　awe；　or　both。　'My　God；　look。'
　　　　He　was　staring　up　at　the　sky；　jaw　loose　and　mouth　gaping。　Henry　followed　his　gaze　and　could　hardly　believe　what　he　was　seeing。　Bright　circles　of　light；　nine　or　ten　of　them；　cruised　slowly　across　the　low…hanging　clouds。　Henry　had　to　squint　to　look　at　them。　He　thought　briefly　of　spotlights　stabbing　the　night　sky　at　Hollywood　film　premieres；　but　of　course　there　were　no　such　lights　out　here　in　the　woods；　and　if　there　had　been　he　would　have　seen　the　beams　themselves；　rising　in　the　snowy　air。　Whatever　was　projecting　those　lights　was　above　or　in　the　clouds；　not　below　them。　They　ran　back　and　forth；　seemingly　at　random；　and　Henry　felt　a　sudden　atavistic　terror　invade　him　。　。　。　except　it　actually　seemed　to　rise　up　from　inside；　somewhere　deep　inside。　All　at　once　his　spinal　cord　felt　like　a　column　of　ice。
　　　　'What　is　it？'　Pete　asked；　nearly　whining。　'Christ；　Henry；　what　is　it？'
　　　　'I　don't…'
　　　　The　woman　looked　up；　saw　the　dancing　lights；　and　began　to　shriek。　They　were　amazingly　loud；　those　shrieks；　and　so　full　of　terror　they　made　Henry　feel　like　shrieking　himself
　　　　'They're　back！'　she　screamed。　'They're　back！　They're　back！'
　　　　Then　she　covered　her　eyes　and　put　her　head　against　the　front　tire　of　the　overturned　Scout。　She　quit　screaming　and　only　moaned；　like　something　caught　in　a　trap　with　no　hope　of　getting　free。


5

For　some　unknown　length　of　time　（probably　no　more　than　five　minutes；　although　it　felt　longer）　they　watched　those　brilliant　lights　run　across　the　sky　…　circling；　skidding；　hanging　lefts　and　rights；　appearing　to　leapfrog　each　other。　At　some　point　Henry　became　aware　there　were　only　five　instead　of　nearly　a　dozen；　and　then　there　were　only　three。　Beside　him　the　woman　with　her　face　against　the　tire　fatted　again；　and　Henry　realized　they　were　standing　out　here　in　the　middle　of　nowhere；　gawping　at　some　sort　of　storm…related　celestial　phenomenon　which；　while　interesting；　would　contribute　absolutely　nothing　toward　getting　them　into　a　place　that　was　dry　and　warm。　He　could　remember　the　final　reading　on　the　tripmeter　with　perfect　clarity：　12。7。　They　were　nearly　ten　miles　from　Hole　in　the　Wall；　a　good　hike　under　the　best　of　circumstances；　and　here　they　were　in　a　storm　only　two　steps　below　a　blizzard。　Plus；　he　thought；　I'm　the　only　one　who　can　walk。
　　　　'Pete。'
　　　　'It's　somethin；　isn't　it？'　Pete　breathed。　'They're　fucking　UFOS；　just　like　on　The　X…Files。　What　d'you　suppose…'
　　　　'Pete。'　He　took　Pete's　chin　in　his　hand　and　turned　his　face　away　from　the　sky；　to　his　own。　Overhead；　the　last　two　lights　were　paling。
　　　　'It's　some　sort　of　electrical　phenomenon；　that's　all。'
　　　　'You　think？'　Pete　looked　absurdly　disappointed。
　　　　'Yeah　…　something　related　to　the　storm。　But　even　if　it's　the　first　wave　of　the　Butterfly　Aliens　from　Planet　Alnitak；　it　isn't　going　to　make　any　difference　to　us　if　we　turn　into　Popsicles　out　here。　Now　I　need　you　to　help　me。　I　need　you　to　do　that　trick　of　yours。　Can　you？'
　　　　'I　don't　know；'　Pete　said；　venturing　one　final　look　at　the　sky。　There　was　only　one　light　now；　and　so　dim　you　wouldn't　have　known　it　was　there　if　you　hadn't　been　looking　for　it。　'Ma'am？　Ma'am；　they're　almost　gone。　Mellow　out；　okay？'
　　　　She　made　no　reply；　only　stood　with　her　face　pressed　against　the　tire。　The　streamers　on　her　hat　flapped　and　flew。　Pete　sighed　and　turned　to　Henry。　　　　
　　　　'What　do　you　want？'
　　　　'You　know　the　loggers'　shelters　along　this　road？'　There　were　eight　or　nine　of　them；　Henry　thought；　nothing　but　four　posts　each；　with　pieces　of　rusty　corrugated　tin　on　top　for　roofs。　The　pulpers　stored　cut　logs　or　pieces　of　equipment　beneath　them　until　spring。
　　　　'Sure；'　Pete　said。
　　　　'Where's　the　closest　one？　Can　you　tell　me？'
　　　　Pete　closed　his　eyes；　raised　one　finger；　and　began　moving　it　back　and　forth。　At　the　same　time　he　made　a　little　ticking　sound　with　the　tip　of　his　tongue　against　the　roof　of　his　mouth。　This　had　been　a　part　of　Pete　ever　since　high　school。　It　didn't　go　back　as　far　as　Beaver's　gnawed　pencils　and　chewed　toothpicks；　or　Jonesy's　love　of　horror　movies　and　murder　sto