dk.solesurvivor-第62部分

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　　As　they　ran　north　through　the　soft　sand　and　passed　the　corner　of　the　restaurant；　someone　rushed　at　them　from　ahead　and　to　the　right；　from　the　bluff；　a　shadow　in　the　night；　quick　and　big；　like　the　featureless　beast　that　seeks　us　in　nightmares；　pursuer　through　corridors　of　dreams。
　　'Look　out；'　Joe　warned　Rose；　but　she　also　saw　the　oning　assailant　and　was　already　taking　evasive　action。
　　Joe　attempted　to　intervene　when　the　hurtling　dark　shape　moved　to　cut　Rose　off…but　he　was　blindsided　by　a　second　man　who　came　at　him　from　the　direction　of　the　sea。　This　guy　was　as　big　as　a　professional　football　linebacker；　and　they　both　went　down　so　hard　that　the　breath　should　have　been　knocked　out　of　Joe；　but　it　wasn't；　not　entirely…he　was　wheezing　but　breathing…because　the　sand　in　which　they　landed　was　deep　and　soft；　far　above　the　highest　lapping　line　of　the　pacting　tide。
　　He　kicked；　flailed；　ruthlessly　used　knees　and　elbows　and　feet；　and　rolled　out　from　under　his　attacker；　scrambling　to　his　feet　as　he　heard　someone　shout　at　Rose　farther　along　the　strand…'Freeze；　bitch！'…after　which　he　heard　a　shot；　hard　and　flat。　He　didn't　want　to　think　about　that　shot；　a　whip　of　sound　snapping　across　the　beach　to　the　growling　sea；　didn't　want　to　think　about　Rose　with　a　bullet　in　her　head　and　his　Nina　lost　again　forever；　but　he　couldn't　avoid　thinking　about　it；　the　possibility　like　a　lash　burn　branded　forever　across　the　surface　of　his　brain。　His　own　assailant　was　cursing　him　and　pushing　up　now　from　the　sand；　and　as　Joe　spun　around　to　deal　with　the　threat；　he　was　full　of　the　meanness　and　fury　that　had　gotten　him　thrown　out　of　the　youth…boxing　league　twenty　years　ago；　seething　with　church…vandalizing　rage…he　was　an　animal　now；　a　heartless　predator；　cat…quick　and　savage…and　he　reacted　as　though　this　stranger　were　personally　responsible　for　poor　Frank　being　crippled　with　rheumatoid　arthritis；　as　if　this　sonofabitch　had　worked　some　hoodoo　to　make　Frank's　joints　swell　and　deform；　as　if　this　wretched　thug　were　the　sole　perpetrator　who　had　somehow　put　a　funnel　in　Captain　Blane's　ear　and　poured　an　elixir　of　madness　into　his　head；　so　Joe　kicked　him　in　the　crotch；　and　when　the　guy　grunted　and　began　to　double　over；　Joe　grabbed　the　bastard's　head　and　at　the　same　time　drove　a　knee　upward；　shoving　the　face　down　into　the　knee　and　jamming　the　knee　up　hard　into　the　face；　a　ballet　of　violence；　and　he　actually　heard　the　crunch　of　the　man's　nose　disintegrating　and　felt　the　bite　of　teeth　breaking　against　his　knee　cap。　The　guy　collapsed　backward　on　the　beach；　all　at　once　choking　and　spitting　blood　and　gasping　for　breath　and　crying　like　a　small　child；　but　this　wasn't　enough　for　Joe；　because　he　was　wild　now；　wilder　than　any　animal；　as　wild　as　weather；　a　cyclone　of　anger　and　grief　and　frustration；　and　he　kicked　where　he　thought　ribs　would　be；　which　hurt　him　almost　as　much　as　it　hurt　the　broken　man　who　received　the　blow；　because　Joe　was　only　wearing　Nikes；　not　hard…toed　shoes；　so　he　tried　to　stomp　the　guy's　throat　and　crush　his　windpipe；　but　stomped　his　chest　instead…and　would　have　tried　again；　would　have　killed　him；　not　quite　realizing　that　he　was　doing　so；　but　then　he　was　rammed　from　behind　by　a　third　attacker。
　　Joe　slammed　facedown　onto　the　beach；　with　the　weight　of　this　new　assailant　atop　him；　at　least　two　hundred　pounds　pinning　him　down。　Head　to　one　side；　spitting　sand；　he　tried　to　heave　the　man　off；　but　this　time　his　breath　was　knocked　out　of　him；　he　exhaled　all　of　his　strength　with　it；　and　he　lay　helpless。
　　Besides；　as　he　gasped　desperately　for　air；　he　felt　his　attacker　thrust　something　cold　and　blunt　against　the　side　of　his　face；　and　he　knew　what　it　must　be　even　before　he　heard　the　threat。
　　'You　want　me　to　blow　your　head　off；　I'll　do　it；'　the　stranger　said；　and　his　reverberant　voice　had　a　ragged　homicidal　edge。　'I'll　do　it；　you　asshole。'
　　Joe　believed　him　and　stopped　resisting。　He　struggled　only　for　his　breath。
　　Silent　surrender　wasn't　good　enough　for　the　angry　man　atop　him。　Answer　me；　you　bastard。　You　want　me　to　blow　your　damn　head　off？　Do　you？'
　　'No。'
　　'Do　you？'
　　'No。'
　　'Going　to　behave？'
　　'Yes。'
　　'I'm　out　of　patience　here。'
　　'All　right。'
　　'Sonofabitch；'　the　stranger　said　bitterly。
　　Joe　said　nothing　more；　just　spit　out　sand　and　breathed　deeply；　getting　his　strength　back　with　his　wind；　though　trying　to　stave　off　the　return　of　the　brief　madness　that　had　seized　him。
　　Where　is　Rose？
　　The　man　atop　Joe　was　breathing　hard　too；　expelling　foul　clouds　of　garlic　breath；　not　only　giving　Joe　time　to　calm　down　but　getting　his　own　strength　back。　He　smelled　of　a　time…scented　cologne　and　cigarette　smoke。
　　What's　happened　to　Rose？
　　'We're　going　to　get　up　now；'　the　guy　said。　'Me　first。　Getting　up；　I　got　this　piece　aimed　at　your　head。　You　stay　flat；　dug　right　into　the　sand　the　way　you　are；　just　the　way　you　are；　until　I　step　back　and　tell　you　it's　okay　to　get　up。'　For　emphasis；　he　pressed　the　muzzle　of　the　gun　more　deeply　into　Joe's　face；　twisting　it　back　and　forth；　the　inside　of　Joe's　cheek　pressed　painfully　against　his　teeth。　'You　understand；　Carpenter？'
　　'Yes。'
　　'I　can　waste　you　and　walk　away。'
　　'I'm　cool。'
　　'Nobody　can　touch　me。'
　　'Not　me；　anyway。'
　　'I　mean；　I　got　a　badge。'
　　'Sure。'
　　'You　want　to　see　it？　I'll　pin　it　to　your　damn　lip。'
　　Joe　said　nothing　more。
　　They　hadn't　shouted　Police；　which　didn't　prove　that　they　were　phony　cops；　only　that　they　didn't　want　to　advertise。　They　hoped　to　do　their　business　quickly；　cleanly…and　get　out　before　they　were　required　to　explain　their　presence　to　the　local　authorities；　which　would　at　least　tangle　them　in　inter…jurisdictional　paperwork　and　might　result　in　troubling　questions　about　what　legitimate　laws　they　were　enforcing。　If　they　weren't　strictly　employees　of　Teknologik；　they　had　some　measure　of　federal　power　behind　them；　but　they　hadn't　shouted　FBI　or　DEA　or　ATF　when　they　had　burst　out　of　the　night；　so　they　were　probably　operatives　with　a　clandestine　agency　paid　for　out　of　those　many　billions　of　dollars　that　the　government　dispensed　off　the　accounting　books；　from　the　infamous　Black　Budget。
　　Finally　the　stranger　eased　off　Joe；　onto　one　knee；　then　stood　and　hacked　away　a　couple　of　steps。　'Get　up。'
　　Rising　from　the　sand；　Joe　was　relieved　to　discover　that　his　eyes　were　rapidly　adapting　to　the　darkness。　When　he　had　first　e　out　of　the　banquet　room　and　run　north　along　the　beach；　hardly　two　minutes　ago；　the　gloom　had　seemed　deeper　than　it　was　now。　The　longer　he　remained　night　blind　to　any　degree；　the　less　likely　he　would　be　to　see　an　advantage　and　to　be　able　to　seize　it。　Although　his　rakish　Panama　hat　was　gone；　and　in　spite　of　the　darkness；　the　gunman　was　clearly　recognizable：　the　storyteller。　In　his　white　slacks　and　white　shirt；　with　his　long　white　hair；　he　seemed　to　draw　the　meagre　ambient　light　to　himself；　glowing　softly　like　an　entity　at　a　séance。
　　Joe　glanced　back　and　up　at　Santa…Fe…by…the…Sea。　He　saw　the　silhouettes　of　diners　at　their　tables；　but　they　probably　couldn't　see　the　action　on　the　dark　beach。
　　Crotch…kicked；　face…slammed；　the　disabled　agent　still　sprawled　nearby　on　the　sand；　no　longer　choking　but　gagging；　in　pain；　and　still　spitting　blood。　He　was　striving　to　squeeze　off　his　flow　of　tears　by　wheezing　out　obscenities　instead　of　sobs。
　　Joe　shouted；　'Rose！'
　　The　white…clad　gunman　said；　'Shut　up。'
　　'Rose！'
　　'Shut　up　and　turn　around。'
　　Silent　in　the　sand；　a　new　man　loomed　behind　the　storyteller　and；　instead　of　proving　to　be　another　Teknologik　drone；　said；　'I　have　a　Desert　Eagle　。44　Magnum　just　one　inch　from　the　back　of　your　skull。'
　　The　storyteller　seemed　as　surprised　as　Joe　was；　and　Joe　was　dizzied　by　this　turn　of　events。
　　The　man　with　the　Desert　Eagle　said；　'You　know　how　powerful　this　weapon　is？　You　know　what　it'll　do　to　your　head？'
　　Still　softly　radiant　but　now　also　as　powerless　as　a　ghost；　the　astonished　storyteller　said；　'Shit。'
　　'Pulverize　your　skull；　take　your　fat　head　right　off　your　neck；　is　what　it'll　do；'　said　the　new　arrival。　'It's　a　doorbuster。　Now　toss　your　gun　in　the　sand　in　front　of　Joe。'
　　The　storyteller　hesitated。
　　'Now。'
　　Managing　to　surrender　with　arroga