sk.cujo-第75部分

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n't　an　endtable。　Because　of　the　smell。　He　went　down　to　the　thing　in　the　hall　and　it　wasn't　an　endtable。　It　was　a　man。　The　man　appeared　to　have　had　his　throat　cut　with　an　extremely　dull　blade。
Vic　stepped　back。　A　dry　gagging　sound　came　from　his　throat。　The　telephone。　He　had　to　call　someone　about　this。
He　started　for　the　kitchen　and　then　stopped。　Suddenly　everything　came　together　in　his　mind。　Them　was　an　instant　of　crushing　revelation；　it　was　like　two　half　pictures　ing　together　to　make　a　three…dimensional　whole。
The　dog。　The　dog　had　done　this。
The　Pinto　was　at　Joe　Camber's。　The　Pinto　had　been　there　all　along。　The　Pinto　and　
'Oh　my　God；　Donna　…'
Vic　turned　and　ran　for　the　door　and　his　car。
Donna　almost　went　sprawling；　that　was　how　bad　her　legs　were。　She　caught　herself　and　grabbed　for　the　baseball　bat；　not　daring　to　look　around　for　Cujo　until　she　had　it　tightly　in　her　hands；　afraid　she　might　lose　her　balance　again。　If　she　had　had　time　to　look　a　little　further　…　just　a　little　…　she　would　have　seen　George　Bannerman's　service　pistol　laying　in　the　grass。　But　she　did　not。
She　turned　unsteadily　and　Cujo　was　running　at　her。
She　thrust　the　heavy　end　of　the　baseball　bat　at　the　Saint　Bernard；　and　her　heart　sank　at　the　unsteady　way　the　thing　wiggled　in　her　hand　…　the　handle　was　badly　splintered；　then。　The　Saint　Bernard　shied　away；　growling。　Her　breasts　rose　and　fell　rapidly　in　the　white　cotton　bra。　The　cups　were　blood　streaked；　she　had　wiped　her　hands　on　them　after　clearing　Tad's　mouth。
They　stood　staring　at　each　other；　measuring　each　other；　in　the　still　summer　sunlight。　The　only　sounds　were　her　low　rapid　breathing；　the　sound　of　Cujo　growling　deep　in　his　chest；　and　the　bright　squawk　of　a　sparrow　somewhere　near。　Their　shadows　were　short；　shapeless　things　at　their　feet。
Cujo　began　to　move　to　his　left。　Donna　moved　right。　They　circled。　She　held　the　bat　at　the　point　where　she　believed　the　split　in　the　wood　to　be　the　deepest；　her　palms　tight　on　the　rough　texture　of　the　BIack　Cat　friction　tape　the　handle　had　been　wrapped　with。
Cujo　tensed　down。
'e　on；　then！'　she　screamed　at　him；　and　Cujo　leaped。
She　swung　the　bat　like　Micky　Mantle　going　after　a　high　fastball。　She　missed　Cujo's　head　but　the　bat　struck　him　in　the　ribs。　There　was　a　heavy；　dull　thump　and　a　snapping　sound　from　somewhere　inside　Cujo。　The　dog　uttered　a　sound　like　a　screarn　and　went　sprawling　in　the　gravel。　She　felt　the　bat　give　sickeningly　under　the　friction　tape　…　but　for　the　moment　it　still　held。
Donna　cried　out　in　a　high；　breaking　voice　and　brought　the　bat　down　on　Cujo's　hindquarters。　Something　else　broke。　She　heard　it。　The　dog　bellowed　and　tried　to　scramble　away　but　she　was　on　it　again；　swinging。　pounding；　screaming。　Her　head　was　high　wine　and　deep　iron。　The　world　danced。　She　was　the　harpies；　the　Weird　Sisters；　she　was　all　vengeance　not　for　herself。　but　for　what　had　been　done　to　her　boy。　The　splintered　handle　of　the　bat　bulged　and　pumped　like　a　racing　heart　beneath　her　hands　and　beneath　its　binding　of　friction　tape。
The　bat　was　bloody　now。　Cujo　was　still　trying　to　get　away；　but　his　movements　had　slowed。　He　ducked　one　blow　…　the　head　of　the　bat　skittered　through　the　gravel　but　the　next　one　struck　him　midway　on　his　back；　driving　him　to　his　rear　legs。
She　thought　he　was　done；　she　even　backed　off　a　step　or　two；　her　breath　screaming　in　and　out　of　her　lungs　like　some　hot　liquid。　Then　he　uttered　a　deep　snarl　of　rage　and　leaped　at　her　again　。。。　but　as　Cujo　went　rolling　in　the　gravel；　the　old　bat　finally　split　in　two。　The　fat　part　flew　away　and　struck　the　right　front　hubcap　of　the　Pinto　with　a　musical　bong！　She　was　left　with　a　splintered　eighteen…inch　wand　in　her　hand。
Cujo　was　getting　to　his　feet　again　。。。　dragging　himself　to　his　feet。　Blood　poured　down　his　sides。　His　eyes　flickered　like　lights　on　a　defective　pinball　machine。
And　still　it　seemed　to　her　that　he　was　grinning。
'e　on；　then！'　she　shrieked。
For　the　last　time　the　dying　ruin　that　had　been　Brett　Camber's　good　dog　Cujo　leaped　at　THE　WOMAN　that　had　caused　all　his　misery。　Donna　lunged　forward　with　the　remains　of　the　baseball　bat；　and　a　long；　sharp　hickory　splinter　plunged　deep　into　Cujo's　right　eye　and　then　into　his　brain。　There　was　a　small　and　unimportant　popping　sound　…　the　sound　a　grape　might　make　when　squeezed　suddenly　between　the　fingers。　Cujo's　forward　motion　carried　him　into　her　and　knocked　her　sprawling。　His　teeth　now　snapped　and　snarled　bare　inches　from　her　neck。　She　put　her　arm　up　as　Cujo　crawled　farther　on　top　of　her。　His　eye　was　now　oozing　down　the　side　of　his　face。　His　breath　was　hideous。　She　tried　to　push　his　muzzle　up；　and　his　jaws　clamped　on　her　forearm。
'Stop！'　she　screamed　'Oh　stop；　won't　you　ever　stop？　Please！　Please！　Please！'
Blood　was　flowing　down　onto　her　face　in　a　sticky　drizzle　…her　blood；　the　dog's　blood。　The　pain　in　her　arm　was　a　sheeting　flare　that　seemed　to　fill　the　whole　world　。。。　and　little　by　little　he　was　forcing　it　down。　The　splintered　handle　of　the　bat　wavered　and　jiggled　grotesquely；　seeming　to　grow　from　his　head　where　his　eye　had　been。
He　went　for　her　neck。
Donna　felt　his　teeth　there　and　with　a　final　wavering　cry　she　pistoned　her　arms　out　and　pushed　him　aside。　Cujo　thudded　heavily　to　the　ground。
His　rear　legs　scratched　at　the　gravel。　They　slowed　。。。　slowed　。。。　stopped。　His　remaining　eye　glared　up　at　the　hot　summer　sky。　His　tail　lay　across　her　shins；　as　heavy　as　a　Turkish　rug　runner。　He　pulled　in　a　breath　and　let　it　out。　He　took　another。　He　made　a　thick　snorting　sound；　and　suddenly　a　rill　of　blood　ran　from　his　mouth。　Then　he　died。
Donna　Trenton　howled　her　triumph。　She　got　halfway　to　her　feet；　fell　down；　and　managed　to　get　up　again。　She　took　two　shuffling　steps　and　stumbled　over　the　dog's　body；　scoring　her　knees　with　scrapes。　She　crawled　to　where　the　heavy　end　of　the　baseball　bat　lay；　its　far　end　streaked　with　gore。　She　picked　it　up　and　gained　her　feet　again　by　holding　on　to　the　hood　of　the　Pinto。　She　tottered　back　to　where　Cujo　lay。　She　began　to　pound　him　with　the　baseball　bat。　Each　downward　swing　ended　with　a　heavy　meat　thud。　Black　strips　of　friction　tape　danced　and　flew　in　the　hot　air。　Splinters　gouged　into　the　soft　pads　of　her　palms；　and　blood　ran　down　her　wrists　and　forearms。　She　was　still　screaming；　but　her　voice　had　broken　with　that　first　howl　of　triumph　and　all　that　came　out　now　was　a　series　of　growling　croaks；　she　sounded　as　Cujo　himself　had　near　the　end。　The　bat　rose　and　fell。　She　bludgeoned　the　dead　dog。　Behind　her；　Vic's　jag　turned　into　the　Camber's　driveway。
He　didn't　know　what　he　had　expected；　but　it　hadn't　been　this。　Fie　had　been　afraid；　but　the　sight　of　his　wife　…　could　that　really　be　Donna？　…　standing　over　the　twisted　and　smashed　thing　in　the　driveway；　striking　it　again　and　again　with　something　that　looked　like　a　caveman's　club　。。。　that　turned　his　fear　to　a　bright；　silvery　panic　that　almost　precluded　thought。　For　one　infinite　moment；　which　he　would　never　admit　to　himself　later；　he　felt　an　impulse　to　throw　the　jag　in　reverse　and　drive　away　。。。　to　drive　forever。　What　was　going　on　in　this　still　and　sunny　dooryard　was　monstrous。
Instead；　he　turned　off　the　engine　and　leaped　out。　'Donna！　Donna！'
She　appeared　not　to　hear　him　or　to　even　realize　that　he　was　there。　Her　cheeks　and　forehead　were　savagely　welted　with　sunburn。　The　left　leg　of　her　slacks　was　shredded　and　soaked　with　blood。　And　her　belly　looked　。。。　it　looked　gored。
The　baseball　bat　rose　and　fell；　rose　and　fell。　She　made　harsh　cawing　sounds。　Blood　flew　up　from　the　dog's　limp　carcass。
'Donna！'
He　got　hold　of　the　baseball　bat　on　the　backswing　and　wrenched　it　out　of　her　hands。　He　threw　it　away　and　grabbed　her　naked　shoulder。　She　turned　to　face　him；　her　eyes　blank　and　hazed；　her　hair　straggling；　witchlike；　any　way。　She　stared　at　him　。　。　。　shook　her　head　。。。　and　stepped　away。
'Donna；　honey；　my　jesus；'　he　said　softly。
It　was　Vic；　but　Vic　couldn't　be　here。　It　was　a　mirage。　It　was　the　dog's　sickening　disease　at　work　in　her；　making　her　hallucinate。　She　stepped　away　。。。　rubbed　her　eyes　。　。　。　and　he　was　still　there。　She　stretched　out　one　trembling　hand；　and　the　mirage　folded　strong　brown　hands　over　it。　That　was　good。　Her　hands　hurt　dreadfully。
'Vuh？'　she　croaked　in　a　whisper。　'Vuh　…Vuh　…　Vic？'
'Yes；　honey。　It's　me。　Wher