jefflong.yearzero-第30部分

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　her　skin　was　not　transparent；　but　black；　baked　by　the　sun；　preserved　and　polished　by　the　cold　and　wind。　She　had　bound　her　black　braids　with　strands　of　turquoise　strung　on　white　yak　hair。
　Nathan　Lee　remembered　being　awestruck　at　the　sight　of　Tibetan　girls　like　her。　She　would　have　had　powerful　high　cheekbones　and　almond　eyes　and　very　white　teeth。　They　could　be　awesome　beauties；　and　awesome　flirts。　He　remembered　some　of　the　archaeologists　at　Everest　razzing　him。Have　one；　Professor　Ochs　had　urged　him。　That　came　back　to　him；　Ochs　prodding　him；　even　in　the　beginning；　to　do　what　he　should　not　do。
　His　first　assumption　was　that　they　were　plague　victims。　The　French　couple　had　been　right；　but　wrong。　Nothing　about　these　cascades　of　bodies　falling　from　the　truck　beds　suggested　forgetfulness。　Certainly　there　were　no　invisible　men　or　women。　Whatever　it　was；　the　disease　was　not　supernatural。　It　was　infectious。　It　killed　quickly。　Almost　instantaneously。
　And　yet　something　didn't　seem　right。　Why　had　so　many　people　died　in　one　place　at　one　time？　What　were　they　doing　out　here？　Where　were　they　running　to？　What　were　they　running　from？　Only　then　did　Nathan　Lee　notice　that　the　entire　convoy　had　been　heading　west。。。away　from　China　and　into　the　barrens。
　They　had　been　racing　away　from　the　center。　Something　sudden　had　spooked　their　stampede。　It　was　almost　as　if　a　gun　had　been　fired。
　He　looked　through　the　sprawled　bodies。　There　were　no　soldiers。　No　settlers　from　the　eastern　lowlands。　These　were　all　ethnic　Tibetans。　He　frowned。　Had　the　races　been　separated　out？　A　different；　more　grisly　pattern　presented　itself。　Could　it　be　that　this　was　no　die…off；　but　a　killing　field？
　But　if　this　were　a　massacre；　where　was　its　agent？　Where　were　the　machine　gun　shells？　Where　were　the　exploded　trucks？　And　where　were　the　vultures　and　dogs？　Not　one　of　the　bodies　had　been　touched。　Not　one　had　a　wound。
　Then　he　found　a　vulture。　And　dogs。　And　ravens。　And　mice。　They　lay　scattered　among　the　dead。　They　had　been　stricken　down　in　the　act　of　taking　their　feast。　A　few　minutes　later；　he　happened　across　a　dull　orange　canister。　It　was　partially　embedded　in　the　earth。　Stencilled　on　the　underside　was　the　universal　skull　and　crossbones。
　It　was　a　bomb。　The　nozzle　was　a　simple　aerosol　spray。　Nerve　gas。　He　straightened。
　Now　that　he　knew　what　to　look　for；　he　saw　five　more　orange　cylinders；　some　sticking　in　the　earth；　others　lying　where　they'd　bounced　and　rolled。　It　was　simple　to　see　now。　The　airplanes…perhaps　only　one；　why　more？…had　flown　from　the　northeast　and　caught　the　caravan　in　the　open。
　That　would　explain　the　mass　panic；　the　rapid　deaths；　the　dead　carnivores。　He　recalled　the　lack　of　animals。　Ever　since　entering　Tibet；　no　birds；　no　grazing　yak；　no　antelope。　The　food　chain　had　been　poisoned　from　top　to　bottom。　The　People's　Republic　had　killed　a　whole　geography。
　He　conjured　a　map　of　Asia。　It　was　his　only　way　of　thinking　through　the　horror；　by　looking　down　from　a　great　distance。　It　needed　a　God's…eye　view。　It　needed　history。　He　remembered　the　dynamited　road　leading　to　Nepal。
　And　then　he　saw　it。　He　saw　the　ebb　and　flow　of　time。　He　saw　epic　ruins。　Empires　shifting。　He　saw　the　ruthless　logic。
　This　was　no　mere　genocide。　The　Middle　Kingdom　had　retreated；　as　always　in　its　times　of　crisis；　behind　a　Great　Wall。　China　had　brought　its　true　children…the　Han…into　the　fortress　and　closed　the　gates。　Except　this　time　the　great　wall　was　made　of　chemical　toxins；　not　stone。
　The　PRC　had　salted　the　earth。　They　had　created　a　firewall。　He　envisioned　a　massive　dead　zone　ringing　the　core。　Most　likely　it　stretched　from　Manchuria　to　its　western　border　with　India。　Millions　might　already　have　been　sacrificed。　He　did　not　have　to　ask　why　anymore。　Here　lay　the　outer　edge　of　a　quarantine。
　Nathan　Lee　sagged　to　the　ground。
　The　plague　was　real。
　And　it　had　no　cure。
　　
　THERE　IS　BIRTHin　death。　Good　in　bad。　Innocence　in　guilt。　That　was　reality。　Life　contradicted　itself。　One　minute　the　wind　was　speeding　prayers　to　the　gods；　the　next　it　was　filled　with　poison。　This　was　the　earth　he　had　inherited。　His　choice　was　simple。　Use　it　or　lose　it。　He　became　king　of　the　dead。　He　went　plundering。
　Nerve　gas；　he　vaguely　recalled；　dissipated　within　hours　or　days。　The　whole　concept　of　chemical　warfare　rested　on　a　gas　that　would　depose　before　it　drifted　back　onto　your　own　troops。　He　decided　that　since　it　hadn't　already　killed　him；　the　plain　was　no　longer　contaminated。
　With　a　glance　at　the　last　ounces　of　sun；　he　rested　his　bike　against　a　truck；　and　climbed　into　the　empty　cab。　The　fuel　gauge　showed　half　full。　The　wind　horses　were　with　him。　This　wasn't　like　Nepal；　where　the　nation's　petroleum　reserve　had　slowly　dried　to　zero。　Here　the　trucks　had　been　fueled　up　and　on　the　move　when　the　Chinese　struck　with　their　nerve　gas。
　The　battery　was　dead。　No　surprise　there。　Most　of　the　batteries　were　old；　and　the　cold　would　have　sapped　their　charge。　Patiently　he　moved　down　the　line。　He　pulled　drivers　from　their　deathgrips　on　the　steering　wheels；　testing　each　ignition。　None　gave　the　slightest　stir。　No　dashboard　lights　flickered。　He　walked　to　the　next　truck；　and　the　next。
　The　sun　toppled　behind　the　mountains。　The　wind　returned。　It　whistled　among　the　still　metal。　Exhaust　pipes　hooted　like　organ　pipes。　The　wind　moaned　in　the　hollow　mouths　of　the　dead。
　He　came　to　another　truck　and　the　cab　was　empty。　He　fought　the　door　open　against　the　wind　and　clambered　into　the　cab　and　let　the　door　slam　shut。　While　he　waited　for　his　hands　to　thaw；　the　truck　shuddered　in　the　blasts　of　wind。　Dirt　hissed　against　the　glass。　Pebbles　clattered　like　shot。
　He　reached　for　the　key。　The　wind　raged　so　hard；　he　barely　heard　the　engine　turn　over。　He　pawed　at　the　panel；　found　a　knob；　and　gave　a　yank。　Light　poured　from　the　headlamps。
　The　highway　and　plains　jumped　up　from　the　darkness。　The　dead　seemed　to　spring　from　nowhere。　In　the　beams　of　hard　white　light；　the　massacre　site　was　appalling　and　restless。　Loosened　clothing　fluttered　like　beating　wings。
　The　gauge　read　a　quarter　full。　Behind　the　seat　he　found　what　he　expected；　a　funnel　and　a　coiled　plastic　tube　that　stunk　of　diesel　fuel。　Up　ahead；　in　the　shadowy　bed　of　a　truck；　he　saw　a　jerry　can　lying　on　its　side。　It　would　hold　ten　gallons。　There　were　more　like　it　in　other　trucks；　some　empty；　others　brimming　with　pink　diesel　fuel。　His　gas　station　was　at　hand。
　The　discovery　of　a　functioning　truck　changed　him。　Suddenly　he　had　real　mobility。　With　the　truck；　he　could　carry　all　he　could　eat。　He　could　begin　to　put　flesh　back　on　his　bones。　No　more　crawling　through　the　winter。　The　truck　would　provide　heat　and　shelter。　With　luck　and　good　roads；　he　could　plow　through　Tibet　and　the　Gobi　and　Siberia　in　a　month；　not　a　year。　He　sat　at　the　wheel；　contemplating　his　excellent　new　future。
　Carefully　he　put　the　truck　in　gear　and　eased　forward。　He　was　thankful　for　the　deafening　wind。　For　the　most　part；　it　drowned　the　sound　of　bones　under　his　tires。　Weaving　in　and　out　of　the　doomed　convoy　with　its　canopies　arched　taut　or　flapping　like　torn　sail；　he　was　reminded　of　a　phantom　wagon　train。　He　went　through　dozens　of　trucks；　taking　their　fuel　and　any　food。　He　manhandled　three　spare　tires　into　the　rear　bed。　He　found　a　blowtorch　for　heating　water　or　thawing　his　engine　block。　He　loaded　in　gnarled　firewood；　blankets；　a　rug；　oil；　grease；　and　water。
　Almost　reluctantly；　he　took　notice　of　the　gold。　It　was　glinting　in　the　headlights；　a　dull　shining　color　among　the　colorless　mummies。　There　were　thick　bangles　and　earrings　and　necklaces　made　of　it。　He　tried　to　ignore　the　small　fortune　out　there。　But　eventually　he　was　going　to　reach　civilization；　and　when　he　did　it　was　going　to　cost　him　coin。　Never　again　would　he　count　on　human　kindness。　The　world　didn't　work　like　that。
　Nathan　Lee　descended　upon　the　bodies　with　a　knife　and　wire　cutters。　Jackals　and　raptors　warred　with　the　dead　like　this；　scraping　and　grunting；　taking　what　the　bone　did　not　want　to　give。　At　the　outer　edges　of　his　headlight　beams；　he　disengaged。　His　sack　was　bulging　with　plunder。
　　
　WITH　A　SLOW；　WIDEU…TURN；　Nathan　Lee　left　the　massacre　behind。　That　night　he　covered　more　territory　than　in　the　entire　last　month。　He　reached　Shigatse；　and　it　was　a　s