dk.coldfire-第13部分

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pitable　Mojave。　
　For　a　while　he　rode　at　over　seventy　miles　an　hour；　though　he　had　no　protection　from　the　wind　because　the　SP　had　no　fairing。　He　was　badly　buffeted；　and　his　eyes　filled　repeatedly　with　tears　that　he　tried　to　blame　entirely　on　the　raw；　hot　air　that　assaulted　him。　
　Strangely；　he　did　not　mind　the　heat。　In　fact　he　didn't　even　feel　it。　He　was　sweating；　yet　he　felt　cool。　
　He　lost　track　of　time。　Perhaps　an　hour　had　passed　when　he　realized　that　he　had　left　the　plains　and　was　moving　across　barren　hills　the　color　of　rust。　
　He　reduced　his　speed。　His　route　was　now　filled　with　twists　and　turns　between　rocky　outcroppings；　but　the　SP　was　the　machine　for　it。　
　It　had　dew　inches　more　suspension　travel　fore　and　aft　than　did　the　regular　FXRS；　with　patible　spring　and　shock　rates；　plus　twin　disc　brakes　on　the　front　…which　meant　he　could　corner　like　a　stunt　rider　when　the　terrain　threw　surprises　at　him。　
　After　a　while　he　was　no　longer　cool。　He　was　cold。　
　The　sun　seemed　to　be　fading；　though　he　knew　it　was　still　early　after　noon。　Darkness　was　closing　on　him　from　within。　
　Eventually　he　stopped　in　the　shadow　of　a　rock　monolith　about　a　quarter　of　a　mile　long　and　three　hundred　feet　high。　Weathered　into　eerie　shapes　by　ages　of　wind　and　sun　and　by　the　rare　but　torrential　rains　that　swept　Mojave；　the　formation　thrust　out　of　the　desert　floor　like　the　ruins　of　an　ancient　temple　now　half　buried　in　sand。　
　He　propped　the　Harley　on　its　kickstand。　
　He　sat　down　on　the　shaded　earth。　
　After　a　moment　he　stretched　out　on　his　side。　He　drew　up　his　knees。　
　and　folded　his　arms　across　his　chest。　
　He　had　stopped　not　a　moment　too　soon。　The　darkness　filled　him　pletely　；　and　he　fell　away　into　an　abyss　of　despair。　
　Later；　in　the　last　hour　of　daylight；　he　found　himself　on　the　Harley　again；　riding　across　gray　and　rose…colored　flats　where　clumps　of　mesquite　bristled。　Dead；　sun…blackened　tumbleweed　chased　him　in　a　breeze　that　smelled　of　powdered　iron　and　salt。　
　He　vaguely　remembered　breaking　open　a　cactus　and　sucking　the　moisture　out　of　the　water…heavy　pulp　at　the　core　of　the　plant；　but　he　was　dry　again。　Desperately　thirsty。　
　As　he　came　over　a　gentle　rise　and　throttled　down　a　little；　he　saw　a　small　town　about　two　miles　ahead；　buildings　clustered　along　a　highway。　A　scattering　of　trees　looked　supernaturally　lush　after　the　desolation…physical　end　spiritual…through　which　he　had　traveled　for　the　past　several　hours。　
　Half　convinced　that　the　town　was　only　an　apparition；　he　angled　toward　it　nevertheless。　
　Suddenly；　silhouetted　against　a　sky　that　was　growing　purple　and　red　with　the　onset　of　twilight；　the　spire　of　a　church　appeared；　a　cross　at　its　pinnacle。　Though　he　realized　that　he　was　to　some　extent　delirious　and　that　his　delirium　was　at　least　partly　related　to　serious　dehydration；　Jim　turned　at　once　toward　the　church。　He　felt　as　if　he　needed　the　solace　of　its　interior　spaces　more　than　he　needed　water。　
　Half　a　mile　from　the　town；　he　rode　the　Harley　into　an　arroyo　and　left　it　there　on　its　side。　The　soft　sand　walls　of　the　channel　gave　way　easily　under　his　hands；　and　he　quickly　covered　the　bike。　
　He　had　assumed　he　could　walk　the　last　half　mile　with　relative　ease。　But　he　was　worse　off　than　he　had　realized。　His　vision　swam　in　and　out　of　focus。　
　His　lips　burned；　his　tongue　stuck　to　the　roof　of　his　dry　mouth；　and　his　throat　was　sore…as　if　he　were　in　the　grip　of　a　virulent　fever。　
　The　muscles　in　his　legs　began　to　cramp　and　throb；　and　each　foot　seemed　to　be　encased　in　a　concrete　boot。　
　He　must　have　blacked　out　on　his　feet；　because　the　next　thing　he　knew；　he　was　on　the　brick　steps　of　the　white　clapboard　church；　with　no　recollection　of　the　last　few　hundred　yards　of　his　journey。　The　words　R　LADY　OF　THE　DESERT　Were　On　a　brass　plaque　beside　the　double　doors。　
　He　had　been　a　Catholic　once。　In　a　part　of　his　heart；　he　still　was　Catholic。　He　had　been　many　things…Methodist；　Jew；　Buddhist；　Baptist；　Moslem；　Hindu；　Taoist；　more…and　although　he　was　no　longer　any　them　in　practice；　he　was　still　all　of　them　in　experience。　
　Though　the　door　seemed　to　weigh　more　than　the　boulder　that　had　covered　the　mouth　of　Christ's　tomb；　he　managed　to　pull　it　open。　He　went　inside。　
　The　church　was　much　cooler　than　the　twilight　Mojave；　but　not　really　cooL　It　smelled　of　myrrh　and　spikenard　and　the　slightly　sweetish　odor　of　burning　votive　candles；　causing　memories　of　his　Catholic　days　to　flood　back　him；　making　him　feel　at　home。　
　At　the　doorway　between　narthex　and　nave；　he　dipped　two　fingers　in　holy…water　font　and　crossed　himself　He　cupped　his　hands　in　the　liquid；　brought　them　to　his　mouth；　and　drank。　The　water　tasted　like　blood：　He　looked　into　the　white　marble　basin　in　horror；　certain　that　it　was　brimming　with　gore；　but　he　saw　only　water　and　the　dim；　shimmering　reflection　of　his　own　face。　
　He　realized　that　his　parched　and　stinging　lips　were　split。　He　lick　them。　The　blood　was　his　own。　
　Then　he　found　himself　on　his　knees　at　the　front　of　the　nave；　leaning　against　the　sanctuary　railing；　praying；　and　he　did　not　know　how　he　gotten　there。　Must　have　blacked　out　again。　
　The　last　of　the　day　had　blown　away　as　if　it　were　a　pale　skin　of　dust；　a　hot　night　wind　pressed　at　the　church　windows。　The　only　illumination　was　from　a　bulb　in　the　narthex；　the　flickering　flames　of　half　a　dozen　votive　candles　in　red…glass　containers；　and　a　small　spotlight　shining　down　on　the　crucifix。　
　Jim　saw　that　his　own　face　was　painted　on　the　figure　of　Christ。　
　He　blinked　his　burning　eyes　and　looked　again。　This　time　he　saw　the　face　of　the　dead　man　in　the　station　wagon。　The　sacred　countenance　metamorphosed　into　the　face　of　Jim　s　mother；　his　father；　the　child　named　Susie；　Lisa　then　it　was　no　face　at　all；　just　a　black　oval；　as　the　killer's　face　had　been　black　oval　when　he　had　turned　to　shoot　at　Jim　inside　the　shadow…fill　Road　king。　
　Indeed；　it　wasn't　Christ　on　the　cross　now；　it　was　the　killer。　He　open　his　eyes；　looked　at　Jim；　and　smiled。　He　jerked　his　feet　free　of　the　vertical　support；　a　nail　still　bristling　from　one　of　them；　a　black　nail　hole　in　the　other。　He　wrenched　his　hands　free；　too；　a　spike　still　piercing　each　palm　and　he　just　drifted　down　to　the　floor；　as　if　gravity　had　no　claim　on　him　accept　what　he　chose　to　allow　it。　He　started　across　the　altar　platform　toward　the　railing；　toward　Jim。　
　Jim's　heart　was　racing；　but　he　told　himself　that　what　he　saw　was　only　a　delusion。　The　product　of　a　fevered　mind。　Nothing　more。　
　The　killer　reached　him。　Touched　his　face。　The　hand　was　as　soft　as　rotting　meat　and　as　cold　as　a　liquid　gas。　
　Like　a　true　believer　in　a　tent　revival；　collapsing　under　the　empowered　hand　of　a　faith　healer；　Jim　shivered　and　fell　away　into　darkness。　
　A　white…walled　room。　
　A　narrow　bed。　
　Spare　and　humble　furnishings。　
　Night　at　the　windows。　
　He　drifted　in　and　out　of　bad　dreams。　Each　time　that　he　regained　a　consciousness；　which　was　never　for　longer　than　a　minute　or　two；　he　saw　the　same　man　hovering　over　him：　about　fifty；　balding；　slightly　plump；　with　？hick　eyebrows　and　a　squashed　nose。　
　Sometimes　the　stranger　gently　worked　an　ointment　into　Jim's　face；　and　sometimes　he　applied　presses　soaked　in　ice　water。　He　lifted　Jim's　head　off　the　pillows　and　encouraged　him　to　drink　cool　water　through　a　straw　Because　the　man's　eyes　were　marked　by　concern　and　kindness；　Jim　didn't　protest。　
　Besides；　he　had　neither　the　voice　nor　the　energy　to　protest。　His　throat　felt　as　if　he　had　swallowed　kerosene　and　then　a　match。　He　did　not　have　strength　even　to　lift　a　hand　an　inch　off　the　sheets。　
　〃Just　rest；〃　the　stranger　said。　〃You're　suffering　heatstroke　and　a　sunburn。〃　
　Windburn。　That's　the　worst　of　it；　Jim　thought；　remembering　the　Harley　SP；　which　had　not　been　equipped　with　a　plexiglass　fairing　for　weather　protection。　
　Light　at　the　windows。　A　new　day。　
　His　eyes　were　sore。　
　His　face　felt　worse　than　ever。　Swollen。　
　The　stranger　was　wearing　a　clerical　collar。　
　〃Priest；〃　Jim　said　in　a　coarse　and　whispery　voice　that　didn't　sound　his　own。　
　ù　〃I　found　you　in　the　church；　unconscious。〃　
　〃Our　Lady　of　the　Desert。〃　
　Lifting　Jim　off　the　pillows　again；　he　said；　〃That's　right。　I'm　Father　Geary。　Leo　Geary。〃　
　Jim　was　able　to　help　himself　a　little