dk.solesurvivor-第76部分

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　spread　their　message　so　widely　by　the　time　they　are　discovered　that　it　cannot　be　contained。
　　Rose　intends　to　start　with　Joe　Carpenter；　but　she　can't　locate　him。　His　co…workers　at　the　Post　have　lost　track　of　him。　He　has　sold　the　house　in　Studio　City。　He　has　no　listed　phone。　They　say　he　is　a　broken　man。　He　has　gone　away　to　die。
　　She　must　begin　the　work　elsewhere。
　　Because　the　Post　published　photographs　of　only　a　fraction　of　the　Southern　California　victims　and　because　she　has　no　easy　way　to　gather　photos　of　the　many　others；　Rose　decides　not　to　use　portraits；　after　all。　Instead；　she　tracks　down　their　burial　places　through　published　funeral…service　notices；　and　she　takes　snapshots　of　their　graves。　It　seems　fitting　that　the　imbued　image　should　be　of　a　headstone；　that　these　grim　memorials　of　bronze　and　granite　should　bee　doorways　through　which　the　recipients　of　the　pictures　will　learn　that　Death　is　not　mighty　and　dreadful；　that　beyond　this　bitter　phase；　Death　himself　dies。
　　
　　High　in　the　wind…churned　mountains；　with　waves　of　moon…silvered　conifers　casting　sprays　of　needles　onto　the　roadway；　still　more　than　twenty　miles　from　Big　Bear　Lake；　Rose　Tucker　spoke　so　softly　that　she　could　barely　be　heard　over　the　racing　engine　and　the　hum　of　the　tyres：　'Joe；　will　you　hold　my　hand？'
　　He　could　not　look　at　her；　would　not　look　at　her；　dared　not　even　glance　at　her　for　a　second；　because　he　was　overe　by　the　childish　superstition　that　she　would　be　all　right；　perfectly　fine；　as　long　as　he　didn't　visually　confirm　the　terrible　truth　that　he　heard　in　her　voice。　But　he　looked。　She　was　so　small；　slumped　in　her　seat；　leaning　against　the　door；　the　back　of　her　head　against　the　window；　as　small　to　his　eyes　as　21…21　must　have　appeared　to　her　when　she　had　fled　Virginia　with　the　girl　at　her　side。　Even　in　the　faint　glow　from　the　instrument　panel；　her　huge　and　expressive　eyes　were　again　as　pelling　as　they　had　been　when　he'd　first　met　her　in　the　graveyard；　full　of　passion　and　kindness…and　a　strange　glimmering　joy　that　scared　him。
　　His　voice　was　shakier　than　hers。　'It's　not　far　now。'
　　'Too　far；'　she　whispered。　'Just　hold　my　hand。'
　　'Oh；　shit。'
　　'It's　all　right；　Joe。'
　　The　shoulder　of　the　highway　widened　to　a　scenic　rest　area。　He　stopped　the　car　before　a　vista　of　darkness：　the　hard　night　sky；　the　icy　disc　of　a　moon　that　seemed　to　shed　cold　instead　of　light；　and　a　vast　blackness　of　trees　and　rocks　and　canyons　descending。
　　
　　He　released　his　seat　belt；　leaned　across　the　console；　and　took　her　hand。　Her　grip　was　weak。
　　'She　needs　you；　Joe。'
　　'I'm　nobody's　hero；　Rose。　I'm　nothing。'
　　'You　need　to　hide　her。。。　hide　her　away。。。'
　　'Rose…'
　　'Give　her　time　。　。　。　for　her　power　to　grow。'
　　'I　can't　save　anyone。'
　　'I　shouldn't　have　started　the　work　so　soon。　The　day　will　e　when。。。　when　she　won't　be　so　vulnerable。　Hide　her　away。。。　let　her　power　grow。　She'll　know。。。　when　the　time　has　e。'
　　She　began　to　lose　her　grip　on　him。
　　He　covered　her　hand　with　both　of　his；　held　it　fast；　would　not　let　it　slip　from　his　grasp。
　　Voice　ravelling　away；　she　seemed　to　be　receding　from　him　though　she　did　not　move：　'Open。　。　。　open　your　heart　to　her；　Joe。'
　　Her　eyelids　fluttered。
　　'Rose；　please　don't。'
　　'It's　all　right。'
　　'Please。　Don't。'
　　'See　you　later；　Joe。'
　　'Please。'
　　'See　you。'
　　Then　he　was　alone　in　the　night。　He　held　her　small　hand　alone　in　the　night　while　the　wind　played　a　hollow　threnody。　When　at　last　he　was　able　to　do　so；　he　kissed　her　brow。
　　
　　The　directions　Rose　had　given　him　were　easy　to　follow。　The　cabin　was　neither　in　the　town　of　Big　Bear　Lake　nor　elsewhere　along　the　lake　front；　but　higher　on　the　northern　slopes　and　nestled　deep　in　pines　and　birches。　The　cracked　and　potholed　blacktop　led　to　a　dirt　driveway；　at　the　end　of　which　was　a　small　white　clapboard　house　with　a　shake…shingle　roof。
　　A　green　Jeep　Wagoneer　stood　beside　the　cabin。　Joe　parked　behind　the　Jeep。
　　The　cabin　boasted　a　deep；　elevated　porch；　on　which　three　cane　backed　rocking　chairs　were　arranged　side　by　side。　A　handsome　black　man；　tall　and　athletically　built；　stood　at　the　railing；　his　ebony　skin　highlighted　with　a　brass　tint　cast　by　two　bare；　yellow　light　bulbs　in　the　porch　ceiling。
　　The　girl　waited　at　the　head　of　the　flight　of　four　steps　that　led　up　from　the　driveway　to　the　porch。　She　was　blond　and　about　six　years　old。
　　From　under　the　driver's　seat；　Joe　retrieved　the　gun　that　he　had　taken　from　the　white…haired　storyteller　after　the　scuffle　on　the　beach。　Getting　out　of　the　car；　he　tucked　the　weapon　under　the　waistband　of　his　jeans。
　　The　wind　shrieked　and　hissed　through　the　needled　teeth　of　the　pines。
　　He　walked　to　the　foot　of　the　steps。
　　The　child　had　descended　two　of　the　four　treads。　She　stared　past　Joe；　at　the　Ford。　She　knew　what　had　happened。
　　On　the　porch；　the　black　man　began　to　cry。
　　The　girl　spoke　for　the　first　time　in　over　a　year；　since　the　moment　outside　the　Ealings'　ranch　house　when　she　had　told　Rose　that　she　wanted　to　be　called　Nina。　Gazing　at　the　car；　she　said　only　one　word　in　a　voice　soft　and　small：　'Mother。'
　　Her　hair　was　the　same　shade　as　Nina's　hair。　She　was　as　fine…boned　as　Nina。　But　her　eyes　were　not　grey　like　Nina's　eyes；　and　no　matter　how　hard　Joe　tried　to　see　Nina's　face　before　him；　he　could　not　deceive　himself　into　believing　that　this　was　his　daughter。
　　Yet　again；　he　had　been　engaged　in　searching　behaviour；　seeking　what　was　lost　forever。
　　The　moon　above　was　a　thief；　its　glow　not　a　radiance　of　its　own　but　a　weak　reflection　of　the　sun。　And　like　the　moon；　this　girl　was　a　thief…not　Nina　but　only　a　reflection　of　Nina；　shining　not　with　Nina's　brilliant　light　but　with　a　pale　fire。
　　Regardless　of　whether　she　was　only　a　lab…born　mutant　with　strange　mental　powers　or　really　the　hope　of　the　world；　Joe　hated　her　at　that　moment；　and　hated　himself　for　hating　her…but　hated　her　nonetheless。
　　
　　　5
　　Hot　wind　huffed　at　the　windows；　and　the　cabin　smelled　of　pine；　dust；　and　the　black　char　from　last　winter's　cosy　blazes；　which　coated　the　brick　walls　of　the　big　fireplace。
　　The　ining　electrical　lines　had　sufficient　slack　to　swing　in　the　wind。　From　time　to　time　they　slapped　against　the　house；　causing　the　lights　to　throb　and　flicker。　Each　tremulous　brown…out　reminded　Joe　of　the　pulsing　lights　at　the　Delmann　house；　and　his　skin　prickled　with　dread。
　　The　owner　was　the　tall　black　man　who　had　broken　into　tears　on　the　porch。　He　was　Louis　Tucker；　Mahalia's　brother；　who　had　divorced　Rose　eighteen　years　ago；　when　she　proved　unable　to　have　children。　She　had　turned　to　him　in　her　darkest　hour。　And　after　all　this　time；　though　he　had　a　wife　and　children　whom　he　loved；　Louis　clearly　still　loved　Rose　too。
　　'If　you　really　believe　she's　not　dead；　that　she's　only　moved　on；'　Joe　said　coldly；　'why　cry　for　her？'
　　'I'm　crying　for　me；'　said　Louis。　'Because　she's　gone　from　here　and　I'll　have　to　wait　through　a　lot　of　days　to　see　her　again。'
　　Two　suitcases　stood　in　the　front　room；　just　inside　the　door。　They　contained　the　belongings　of　the　child。
　　She　was　at　a　window；　staring　out　at　the　Ford；　with　sorrow　pulled　around　her　like　sackcloth。
　　'I'm　scared；'　Louis　said。　'Rose　was　going　to　stay　up　here　with　Nina；　but　I　don't　think　it's　safe　now。　I　don't　want　to　believe　it　could　be　true…but　they　might've　found　me　before　I　got　out　of　the　last　place　with　Nina。　Couple　times；　way　back；　I　thought　the　same　car　was　behind　us。　Then　it　didn't　keep　up。'
　　'They　don't　have　to。　With　their　gadgets；　they　can　follow　from　miles　away。'
　　'And　then　just　before　you　pulled　into　the　driveway；　I　went　out　on　to　the　porch　'cause　I　thought　I　heard　a　helicopter。　Up　in　these　mountains　in　this　wind…does　that　make　sense？'
　　'You　better　get　her　out　of　here；'　Joe　agreed。
　　As　the　wind　slapped　the　electrical　lines　against　the　house；　Louis　paced　to　the　fireplace　and　back；　a　hand　pressed　to　his　forehead　as　he　tried　to　put　the　loss　of　Rose　out　of　his　mind　long　enough　to　think　what　to　do。　'I　figured　you　and　Rose。。。　well；　I　thought　the　two　of　you　were　taking　her。　And　if　they're　on　to　me；　then　won't　she　be　safer　with　you？'
　　'If　they're　on　to　you；'　Joe　said；　'then　none　of　us　is　safe　h