sk.cujo-第42部分

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ttached　to　the　ring　with　a　mushroom　branded　on　it。　She　had　bought　the　keyring　in　Swanson's；　a　Bridgton　department　store；　back　in　April。　Back　in　April　when　she　had　been　so　disillusioned　and　scared；　never　knowing　what　real　fear　was；　real　fear　was　trying　to　crank　your　kid's　window　shut　while　a　rabid　dog　drooled　on　the　backs　of　your　hands。
She　reached　out。　She　touched　the　leather　tab。　She　pulled　her　hand　back　again。
The　truth　was　this：　She　was　afraid　to　try。
It　was　quarter　past　seven。　The　day　was　still　bright；　although　the　Pinto's　shadow　trailed　out　long；　almost　to　the　garage　door。　Although　she　did　not　know　it；　her　husband　and　his　partner　were　still　watching　kinescopes　of　the　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　at　Image…Eye　in　Cambridge。　She　didn't　know　why　no　one　had　answered　the　SOS　she　had　been　beeping　out。　In　a　book；　someone　would　have　e。　It　was　the　heroine's　reward　for　having　thought　up　such　a　clever　idea。　But　no　one　had　e。
Surely　the　sound　had　carried　down　to　the　ramshackle　house　at　the　foot　of　the　hill。　Maybe　they　were　drunk　down　there。　Or　maybe　the　owners　of　the　two　cars　in　the　driveway　（dooryard；　her　mind　corrected　automatically；　up　here　they　call　it　a　dooryard）　had　both　gone　off　somewhere　in　a　third　car。　She　wished　she　could　see　that　house　from　here；　but　it　was　out　of　sight　beyond　the　descending　flank　of　the　hill。
Finally　she　had　given　the　SOS　up。　She　was　afraid　that　if　she　kept　tooting　the　horn　it　would　drain　the　Pinto's　battery；　which　had　been　in　since　they　got　the　car。　She　still　believed　the　Pinto　would　start　when　the　engine　was　cool　enough。　It　always　had　before。
But　you're　afraid　to　try；　because　if　it　doesn't　start　what　then？
She　was　reaching　for　the　ignition　again　when　the　dog　stumbled　back　into　view。　It　had　been　lying　out　of　sight　in　front　of　the　Pinto。　Now　it　moved　slowly　toward　the　barn；　it's　head　down　and　its　tail　drooping。　It　was　staggering　and　weaving　like　a　drunk　near　the　bitter　end　of　a　long　toot。　Without　looking　back；　Cujo　slipped　into　the　shadows　of　the　building　and　disappeared。
She　drew　her　hand　away　from　the　key　again。
'Mommy？　Aren't　we　going？'
'Let　me　think；　hon；'　she　said。
She　looked　to　her　left；　out　the　driver's　side　window。　Eight　running　steps　would　take　her　to　the　back　door　of　the　Camber　house。　In　high　school　she　had　been　the　star　of　her　high　school's　girls'　track　team；　and　she　still　jogged　regularly。　She　could　beat　the　dog　to　the　door　and　inside；　she　was　sure　of　that。　There　would　be　a　telephone。　One　call　to　Sheriff　Bannerman's　office　and　this　horror　would　end。　On　the　other　hand；　if　she　tried　cranking　the　engine　again；　it　might　not　start　。。。　but　it　would　bring　the　dog　on　the　run。　She　knew　hardly　anything　about　rabies；　but　she　seemed　to　remember　reading　at　some　time　or　other　that　rabid　animals　were　almost　supernaturally　sensitive　to　sounds。　Loud　noises　could　drive　them　into　a　frenzy。
'Mommy？'
'Shhh；　Tad。　Shhh！'
Eight　running　steps。　Dig　it。
Even　if　Cujo　was　lurking　and　watching　inside　the　garage　just　out　of　sight；　she　felt　sure　…　she　knew　…　she　could　win　a　footrace　to　the　back　door。　The　telephone；　yes。　And　。。。　a　man　like　Joe　Camber　surely　kept　a　gun。　Maybe　a　whole　rack　of　them。　What　pleasure　it　would　give　her　to　blow　that　fucking　dog　'S　head　to　so　much　oatmeal　and　strawberry　jam！
Eight　running　steps。
Sure。　Dig　on　it　awhile。
And　what　if　that　door　giving　on　the　porch　was　locked？　Worth　the　risk？
Her　heart　thudded　heavily　in　her　breast　as　she　weighed　the　chances。　If　she　had　been　alone；　that　would　have　been　one　thing。　But　suppose　the　door　was　locked？　She　could　beat　the　dog　to　the　door；　but　not　to　the　door　and　then　back　to　the　car。　Not　if　it　came　running；　not　if　it　charged　her　as　it　had　done　before。　And　what　would　Tad　do？　What　if　Tad　saw　his　mother　being　savaged　by　a　two…hundred…pound　mad　dog；　being　ripped　and　bitten；　being　pulled　open　
No。　They　were　safe　here。
Try　the　engine　again！
She　reached　for　the　ignition；　and　part　of　her　mind　clamored　that　it　would　he　safer　to　wait　longer；　until　the　engine　was　perfectly　cool　
Perfectly　cool？　They　had　been　here　three　hours　or　more　already。
She　grasped　the　key　and　turned　it。
The　engine　cranked　briefly　once；　twice；　three　times　…　and　then　caught　with　a　roar。
'Oh；　thank　God！'　she　cried。
'Mommy？'　Tad　asked　shrilly。　'Are　we　going？　Are　we　going？'
'We're　going；'　she　said　grimly；　and　threw　the　transmission　into　reverse。　Cujo　lunged　out　of　the　barn　。。。　and　then　just　stood　there；　watching。　'Fuck　you　dog！'　she　yelled　at　it　triumphantly。
She　touched　the　gas　pedal。　The　Pinto　rolled　back　perhaps　two　feet　…　and　stalled。
'No！'　she　screamed　as　the　red　idiot　lights　came　on　again。　Cujo　had　taken　another　two　steps　when　the　engine　cut　out；　but　now　he　only　stood　there　silent；　his　head　down。　Watching　me；　the　thought　occurred　again。　His　shadow　trailed　out　behind　him；　as　clear　as　a　silhouette　cut　out　of　black　crepe　paper。
Donna　fumbled　for　the　ignition　switch　and　turned　it　from　ON　to　START。　The　motor　began　to　rum　over　again；　but　this　time　it　didn't　catch。　She　could　hear　a　harsh　panting　sound　in　her　own　ears　and　didn't　realize　for　several　seconds　that　she　was　making　the　sound　herself　…　in　some　vauge　way　she　had　the　idea　that　it　must　be　the　dog。　She　ground　the　starter；　grimacing　horribly；　；wearing　at　it；　oblivious　of　Tad；　using　words　she　had　hardly　known　she　knew。　And　A　the　time　Cujo　stood　there；　trailing　his　shadow　from　his　heels　like　some　surreal　funeral　drape；　watching。
At　last　he　lay　down　in　the　driveway；　as　if　deciding　there　was　no　chance　for　them　to　escape。　She　hated　it　more　than　she　had　when　it　had　tried　to　force　its　way　in　through　Tad's　window。
'Mommy　。。。　Mommy　。。。　Mommy！'
From　far　away。　Unimportant。　What　was　important　now　was　this　goddamned　sonofabitching　little　car。　It　was　going　to　start。　She　was　going　to　make　it　start　by　pure　。。。　force。。。　of　will！
She　had　no　idea　how　long；　in　real　time；　she　sat　hunched　over　the　wheel　with　her　hair　hanging　in　her　eyes；　futilely　grinding　the　starter。　What　at　last　broke　through　to　her　was　not　Tad's　cries　…　they　had　trailed　off　to　whimpers　…　but　the　sound　of　the　engine。　It　would　crank　briskly　for　five　seconds；　then　lag　off；　then　crank　briskly　for　another　five；　then　lag　off　again。　A　longer　lag　each　time；　it　seemed。
She　was　killing　the　battery。
She　stopped。
She　came　out　of　it　a　little　at　a　time；　like　a　woman　ing　out　of　a　faint。　She　remembered　a　bout　of　gastroenteritis　she'd　had　in　college　…　everything　inside　her　had　either　e　up　by　the　elevator　or　dropped　down　the　chute　…　and　near　the　end　of　it　she　had　grayed　out　in　one　of　the　dorm　toilet　stalls。　ing　back　had　been　like　this；　as　if　you　were　the　same　but　some　invisible　painter　was　adding　color　to　the　world；　bringing　it　first　up　to　full　and　then　to　overfull。　Colors　shrieked　at　you。　Everything　looked　plastic　and　phony；　like　a　display　in　a　department　store　window　…SWING　INTO　SPRING；　perhaps；　or　READY　FOR　THE　FIRST　KICKOFF。
Tad　was　cringing　away　from　her；　his　eyes　squeezed　shut；　the　thumb　of　one　hand　in　his　mouth。　The　other　hand　was　pressed　against　his　hip　pocket；　where　the　Monster　Words　were。　His　respiration　was　shallow　and　rapid。
'Tad；'　she　said。　'Honey；　don't　worry。'
'Mommy；　are　you　all　right？'　His　voice　was　little　more　than　a　husky　whisper。
'Yeah。　So　are　you。　At　least　we're　safe。　This　old　car　will　go。　just　wait　and　see。'
'I　thought　you　were　mad　at　me。'
She　took　him　in　her　arms　and　hugged　him　tight。　She　could　smell　sweat　in　his　hair　and　the　lingering　undertone　of　Johnson's　No　More　Tears　shampoo。　She　thought　of　that　bottle　sitting　safely　and　sanely　on　the　second　shelf　of　the　medicine　cabinet　in　the　upstairs　bathroom。　If　only　she　could　touch　it！　But　all　that　was　here　was　that　faint；　dying　perfume。
'No；　honey；　not　at　you；'　she　said。　'Never　at　you。'
Tad　hugged　her　back。　'He　can't　get　us　in　here；　can　he？'
'No。'
'He　can't　。。。　he　can't　eat　his　way　in；　can　he？'
'No。'
'I　hate　him；'　Tad　said　reflectively。　'I　wish　he'd　die。'
'Yes。　Me　too。'
She　looked　out　the　window　and　saw　that　the　sun　was　getting　ready　to　go　down。　A　superstitious　dread　settled　into　her　at　the　thought。　She　remembered　the　childhood　games　of　hide…and…seek　that　had　always　ended　when　the　shadows　joined　each　other　and　grew　into　purple　lagoons；　that　mystic　call　drifting　through　the　suburban　streets　of　her　childhood；　talismanic　and