dk.coldfire-第57部分

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the　east；　the　valley　was　so　broad　and　deep　that　it　contained　more　geographical　variety　than　some　entire　states　back　East　Although　at　this　time　of　year；　untouched　by　rain　since　early　spring；　most　of　it　was　brown　and　crisp。　They　traveled　across　rounded　golden　hills；　brown　meadows。　The　better　vantage　points　on　their　two…mile　route　revealed　vistas　of　higher　hills　overgrown　with　chaparral；　valleys　within　the　valley　where　groves　of　California　live　oaks　flourished；　and　small　green　vineyards　encircled　by　vast　seared　fields。　
　〃It's　beautiful；〃　Holly　said；　taking　in　the　pale　hills；　shining…gold　meadows；　and　oily　chaparral。　Even　the　oaks；　whose　clusters　indicated　areas　with　a　paratively　high　water　table；　were　not　lush　but　a　half　parched　silvergreen。　〃Beautiful；　but　a　tinderbox。　How　would　they　cope　with　a　fire　out　here？〃　Even　as　she　posed　that　question；　they　came　around　a　bend　in　the　road　and　saw　a　stretch　of　blackened　land　to　the　right　of　the　two…lane　county　road。　Brush　and　grass　had　been　reduced　to　veins　of　gray…white　ash　in　coalblack　soot。　The　fire　had　taken　place　within　the　past　couple　of　days；　for　it　was　still　recent　enough　to　lend　a　burnt　odor　to　the　August　air。　
　〃That　one　didn't　get　far；〃　he　said。　〃Looks　like　ten　acres　burned　at　most。　
　They're　quick　around　here；　they　jump　at　the　first　sign　of　smoke。　
　There's　a　good　volunteer　group　in　town；　plus　a　Department　of　Forestry　station　in　the　valley；　lookout　posts。　If　you　live　here；　you　don't　forget　the　threat…you　just　realize　after　a　while　that　it　can　be　dealt　with。〃　
　Jim　sounded　confident　enough；　and　he　had　lived　there　for　seven　or　eight　years；　so　Holly　tried　to　suppress　her　pyrophobia。　Nevertheless；　even　after　they　had　passed　the　charred　land　and　could　no　longer　smell　the　scorched　brush；　Holly　had　an　image　in　her　mind　of　the　huge　valley　at　night；　aflame　from　end　to　end；　vortexes　of　red…orange…white　fire　whirling　like　tornadoes　and　consuming　everything　that　lay　between　the　ramparts　of　the　two　mountain　ranges。　
　〃Ironheart　Farm；〃　he　said；　startling　her。　
　As　Jim　slowed　the　Ford；　Holly　looked　to　the　left　of　the　blacktop　county　route。　
　A　farmhouse　stood　a　hundred　feet　back　from　the　road；　behind　a　withered　lawn。　It　was　of　no　particular　architectural　style；　just　a　plain　but　cozy…looking　two…story　farmhouse　with　white　aluminum　siding；　a　red…shingle　roof；　and　a　modious　front　porch。　It　might　have　been　lifted　off　its　foundation　anywhere　in　the　Midwest　and　plunked　down　on　new　footings　here；　for　there　were　thousands　like　it　in　those　cornbelt　states。　
　Maybe　a　hundred　yards　to　the　left　of　the　house；　a　red　barn　rose　to　a　tarnished　horse…and…carriage　weather　vane　at　the　pinnacle　of　its　peaked　roof　It　was　not　huge；　only　half　again　as　large　as　the　unimposing　house。　
　Behind　the　house　and　barn；　visible　between　them；　was　the　pond；　and　the　structure　at　its　far　side　was　the　most　arresting　sight　on　the　farm。　
　The　windmill。　
　Jim　stopped　in　the　driveway　turnaround　between　house　and　barn；　and　got　out　of　the　Ford。　He　had　to　get　out　because　the　sight　of　the　old　place　hit　him　harder　than　he　had　expected；　simultaneously　bringing　a　chill　to　the　pit　of　his　stomach　and　a　flush　of　heat　to　his　face。　In　spite　of　the　cool　draft　from　the　dashboard　vents；　the　air　in　the　car　seemed　warm　and　stale；　too　low　in　oxygen　content　to　sustain　him。　He　stood　in　the　fresh　summer　air；　drawing　deep　breaths；　and　tried　not　to　lose　control　of　himself　The　blank…windowed　house　held　little　power　over　him。　When　he　looked　at　it；　he　felt　only　a　sweet　melancholy　that　might；　given　time；　deepen　into　a　more　disturbing　sadness　or　even　despair。　But　he　could　stare　at　it；　draw　his　breath　normally；　and　turn　away　from　it　without　being　seized　by　a　powerful　urge　to　look　at　it　again。　
　The　barn　exerted　no　emotional　pull　on　him　whatsoever；　but　the　windmill　was　another　story。　When　he　turned　his　gaze　on　that　cone　of　limestone　beyond　the　wide　pond；　he　felt　as　though　he　were　being　transformed　into　stone　himself；　as　had　been　the　luckless　victims　of　the　mythological　serpenthaired　Medusa　when　they　had　seen　her　snake…ringed　face。　
　He'd　read　about　Medusa　years　ago。　In　one　of　Mrs。　Glynn's　books。　
　That　was　in　the　days　when　he　wished　with　all　his　heart　that　he；　too；　could　see　the　snake…haired　woman　and　be　transformed　into　unfeeling　rock。　
　。　。　。　
　〃Jim？〃　Holly　said　from　the　other　side　of　the　car。　〃You　okay？〃　With　its　high…ceilinged　rooms…highest　on　the　first　floor　the　two…story　mill　was　actually　four　stories　in　height。　But　to　Jim；　at　that　moment；　it　looked　far　taller；　as　imposing　as　a　twenty…story　tower。　Its　once…pale　stones　had　been　darkened　by　a　century　of　grime。　Climbing　ivy；　roots　nurtured　by　the　pond　that　abutted　one　flank　of　the　mill；　twined　up　the　rough　stone　face；　finding　easy　purchase　in　deep…mortared　joints。　
　With　no　one　to　perform　needed　maintenance；　the　plant　had　covered　half　the　structure；　and　had　grown　entirely　over　a　narrow　first…floor　window　near　the　timbered　door。　
　The　wooden　sails　looked　rotten。　Each　of　those　four　arms　was　about　thirty　feet　in　length；　making　a　sixty…foot　spread　across　adjoining　spans；　and　each　was　five　feet　wide　with　three　rows　of　vanes。　Since　he　had　last　seen　the　mill；　more　vanes　had　cracked　or　fallen　away　altogether。　The　time…frozen　sails　were　stopped　not　in　a　cruciform　but　toward　the　open　door。　
　〃e　on；　let's　get　this　place　cleaned　up；　move　in。　We　want　to　be　ready　for　whatever's　going　to　happen　next。〃　
　She　followed　him　to　the　head　of　the　steps　but　stopped　there　and　watched　him　descend　two　at　a　time；　with　the　air　of　a　kid　excited　by　the　prospect　of　adventure。　All　of　his　misgivings　about　the　mill　and　his　fear　of　The　Enemy　seemed　to　have　evaporated　like　a　few　beads　of　water　on　a　red…hot　griddle。　
　His　emotional　roller　coaster　was　cresting　the　highest　point　on　the　track　thus　far。　
　Sensing　something　above　her　head；　Holly　looked　up。　A　large　web　had　been　spun　above　the　door；　across　the　curve　where　the　wall　became　the　ceiling。　
　A　fat　spider；　its　body　as　big　around　as　her　thumbnail　and　its　spindly　legs　almost　as　long　as　her　little　finger；　greasy　as　a　dollop　of　wax　and　dark　as　a　drop　of　blood；　was　feeding　greedily　on　the　pale　quivering　body　of　a　snared　moth。　
　With　a　broom；　dustpan；　bucket　of　water；　mop；　and　a　few　rags；　they　made　the　small　upper　chamber　livable　in　short　order。　Jim　even　brought　some　Windex　and　paper　towels　from　the　store　of　cleaning　supplies　at　the　house；　so　they　could　scrub　the　grime　off　the　windows；　letting　in　a　lot　more　light。　
　Holly　chased　down　and　killed　not　only　the　spider　above　the　door　but　seven　others；　checking　darker　corners　with　one　of　the　flashlights　until　she　was　sure　she　had　found　them　all。　
　Of　course　the　mill　below　them　was　surely　crawling　with　countless　other　spiders。　She　decided　not　to　think　about　that。　
　By　six　o'clock；　the　day　was　waning　but　the　room　was　bright　enough　without　the　Coleman　lantern。　They　were　sitting　Indian　fashion　on　their　inflatable…mattress　sleeping　bags；　with　the　big　cooler　between　them。　
　Using　the　closed　lid　as　a　table；　they　made　thick　sandwiches；　opened　the　potato　chips　and　cheese　twists；　and　popped　the　tops　off　cans　of　root　beer。　Though　she　had　missed　lunch；　Holly　had　not　thought　about　food　until　they'd　begun　to　prepare　it。　Now　she　was　hungrier　than　she　would　have　expected　under　the　circumstances。　Everything　was　delicious；　better　than　gourmet　fare。　Olive　loaf　and　cheese　on　white　bread；　with　mustard；　recalled　for　her　the　appetites　of　childhood；　the　intense　flavors　and　forgotten　innocent　sensuality　of　youth。　
　They　did　not　talk　much　as　they　ate。　Silences　did　not　make　either　of　them　feel　awkward；　and　they　were　taking　such　primal　pleasure　from　the　me　that　no　conversation；　regardless　of　how　witty；　could　have　improved　the　moment。　But　that　was　only　part　of　the　reason　for　their　mutual　reticence。　
　Holly；　at　least；　was　also　unable　to　think　what　to　say　under　these　bizarre　circumstances；　sitting　in　the　high　room　of　a　crumbling　old　mill；　waiting　for　an　encounter　with　something　supernatural。　No　small　talk　of　any　kind　was　adequate　to　the　moment；　and　a　serious　discussion　of　just　about　anything　would　seem　ludicrous。　
　〃I　feel　sort　of　foolish；〃　she　said　eventually。　
　〃Me；　too；〃　he　admitted。　〃Just　a　little。〃　
　At　seven　o'clock；　when