p&c.thunderhead-第82部分

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ar　into　the　empty　caching　room　they　had　chosen　in　a　remote　part　of　the　city。　There…with　any　luck…it　would　remain　hidden；　dry　and　free　from　animals　until　they　returned。　
　Until　they　returned。。。。　Black　found　himself　sweating　profusely。　He　licked　his　lips；　staring　at　the　blue　sky　above　the　canyon　rim。　Maybe　nothing　would　happen。　Maybe　it　would　happen　someplace　else。　
　One　at　a　time；　Sloane；　Swire；　and　Bonarotti　emerged　from　the　darkness　of　the　city　and　joined　Black　at　the　retaining　wall。　Bonarotti　removed　a　canteen　and　wordlessly　passed　it　around。　Automatically；　Black　took　a　drink；　tasting　nothing。　His　eyes　roved　over　what　remained　of　the　camp：　the　tents；　already　broken　down　and　ready　to　be　carried　out；　the　neat　row　of　drysacks　beside　them；　the　small　pile　of　equipment　that　still　had　to　be　lugged　up　to　the　cache　site　。　。　。　
　It　was　then　that　he　heard　something。　Or　perhaps　he　felt　it；　he　wasn't　exactly　sure：　a　strange　movement　of　the　air；　almost　a　vibration。　His　heart　began　to　race；　and　he　looked　toward　Sloane。　She　was　staring　out　into　the　valley。　Aware　of　his　gaze；　she　glanced　toward　him　for　a　moment；　then　rose　to　her　feet。　
　〃Did　you　hear　something？〃　she　asked　nobody　in　particular。　Handing　the　canteen　back　to　Bonarotti；　she　moved　toward　the　edge　of　the　cliff；　followed　by　Swire。　A　moment　later；　Black　came　up　behind。　
　The　valley　below　still　looked　pastoral：　somnolent　in　the　heat；　drenched　in　late　morning　sunlight。　But　the　vibration；　like　a　deep　motor　ing　to　life；　seemed　to　fill　the　air。　The　leaves　of　the　cottonwoods　began　to　dance。　
　Bonarotti　came　up　beside　him。　〃What　is　it？〃　he　asked；　looking　around　curiously。　
　Black　didn't　answer。　Two　emotions　were　warring　inside　him：　terror　and　a　breathless；　almost　nauseating　excitement。　There　was　now　a　rising　wind　ing　from　the　mouth　of　the　slot　canyon：　he　could　make　out　the　saltbushes　at　its　fringe；　gyrating　as　if　possessed。　Then　the　canyon　emitted　a　long；　distorted；　booming　screech　that　grew　louder；　then　still　louder。　It　must　be　in　the　canyon　now；　thought　Black。　There　was　a　buzzing　sound；　but　he　wasn't　sure　if　it　was　ing　from　the　valley　or　inside　his　head。　
　He　glanced　at　the　pany　ranged　beside　him。　They　were　all　staring　toward　the　mouth　of　the　slot　canyon。　On　Swire's　face；　puzzlement　gave　way　first　to　dawning　understanding；　then　horror。　
　〃Flash　flood；〃　said　the　wrangler。　〃My　God；　they're　in　the　canyon　。　。　。〃　He　broke　for　the　ladder。　
　Black　held　his　breath。　He　thought　he　knew　what　was　ing；　he　felt　that　he　was　prepared　for　anything。　And　yet　he　was　totally　unprepared　for　the　spectacle　that　followed。　
　With　a　basso　profundo　groan；　the　slot　canyon　belched　forth　a　mass　of　boulders　and　splintered　tree　trunks…hundreds　of　them…which　burst　from　the　narrow　crevice　and　came　spinning　down　to　earth。　Then；　with　the　swelling　roar　of　a　beast　opening　its　maw；　the　slot　vomited　forth　a　liquid　mass…chocolate…brown　water；　mingled　with　ropes　of　viscous　red。　It　coalesced　into　a　rippling　wall　that　fell　in　thunder　against　the　scree　slope；　sending　up　secondary　spouts　and　smoking　plumes。　It　tore　down　the　floodplain；　smoking　along　the　banks；　ripping　away　chunks　of　the　slope　and　even　peeling　off　pieces　of　the　canyon　wall　in　the　extremity　of　its　violence。　For　a　moment　Black　thought；　with　horror；　that　it　would　actually　surmount　the　steep　banks　on　either　side　of　the　plain　and　take　away　their　camp。　But　instead　it　worried；　chewed；　and　ate　away　at　the　stone　edges　of　the　benchland；　its　fury　contained　but　made　all　the　more　violent。　Near　the　bank　of　cottonwoods；　he　could　make　out　Swire；　shielding　his　face　with　his　arms；　beaten　back　toward　camp　by　the　fury　of　the　blast。　
　Black　stood　at　the　edge　of　the　cliff；　buffeted　by　the　wind；　motionless　in　shock　and　horror。　Beside　him；　Bonarotti　was　yelling　something；　but　Black　did　not　hear　it。　He　was　staring　at　the　water。　He　could　never　have　imagined　water　capable　of　such　fury。　He　watched　as　it　swept　down　the　center　of　the　valley；　tearing　at　the　banks；　engulfing　entire　trees；　instantly　turning　the　lovely；　sun…dappled　landscape　into　a　watery　vision　of　hell。　A　thousand　rainbows　sprung　up　from　the　spume；　glistening　in　the　appalling　sunlight。　
　Then　he　saw　a　flash　of　yellow　amid　the　churning　chocolate：　Holroyd's　body　bag。　And　then；　moments　later；　something　else；　caught　in　a　standing　wave：　a　human　torso；　one　arm　still　attached；　wearing　the　shredded　remnants　of　a　tan　shirt。　As　Black　stared　in　mingled　shock　and　disgust；　the　gruesome　object　erupted　off　the　top　of　the　wave　and　spun　around　once；　the　limp　arm　flapping　in　a　travesty　of　a　gesture　of　help。　Then　it　bobbed　over　in　a　haze　of　chocolates　and　grays　and　was　swallowed　in　the　flood。　
　Almost　unconsciously；　he　took　a　step　backward；　then　another　and　another；　until　he　felt　his　heel　bump　against　the　rock　of　the　retaining　wall。　He　half　sat；　half　collapsed　onto　it；　then　turned　his　back　to　the　valley；　unwilling　to　see　any　more。　
　He　wondered　what　it　was　he　had　done。　Was　he　a　murderer；　after　all？　But　no：　not　even　a　lie　had　been　told。　The　weather　report　had　been　clear　and　unequivocal。　The　storm　was　twenty　miles　away；　the　water　could　have　gone　anywhere。　
　The　roar　of　the　flood　continued　behind　him；　but　Black　tried　not　to　hear　it。　Instead；　he　raised　his　eyes　to　the　cool　depths　of　the　city　that　lay　spread　before　him：　dark　even　in　the　bright　morning　sun；　serene；　utterly　indifferent　to　the　calamity　that　was　taking　place　in　the　valley　beyond。　Looking　at　the　city；　he　began　to　feel　a　little　bit　better。　He　breathed　slowly；　letting　the　tightness　in　his　chest　ease。　His　thoughts　began　trending　once　again　toward　the　Sun　Kiva　and　the　treasure　it　contained…and　especially　of　the　immortality　that　it　represented。　Schliemann。　Carter。　Black。　
　He　started　guiltily；　then　glanced　over　toward　Sloane。　She　was　still　standing　at　the　edge　of　the　cliff；　staring　down　into　the　valley。　Her　look　was　veiled；　but　on　her　face　he　read　a　play　of　emotions　that　she　could　not　hide　pletely：　amazement；　horror；　and…in　the　glint　of　the　eye　and　the　faintest　curl　of　the　lip…triumph。　
　
　
51
　
　RICKY　BRIGGS　LISTENED　TO　THE　DISTANT　sound　with　irritation。　That　rhythmic　swat　meant　only　one　thing：　a　helicopter；　heading　this　way　by　the　sound　of　it。　He　shook　his　head。　Helicopters　were　supposed　to　keep　out　of　the　marina's　airspace；　although　they　rarely　did。　There　were　often　choppers　doing　flybys　of　the　lake；　or　en　route　to　the　Colorado　River　or　the　Grand　Canyon。　They　annoyed　the　boaters。　And　when　the　boaters　got　annoyed；　they　plained　to　Ricky　Briggs。　He　heaved　a　sigh　and　went　back　to　his　paperwork。　
　After　a　moment；　he　looked　up　again。　The　helicopter　sounded　different　from　usual：　lower；　throatier　somehow。　And　the　sound　of　the　engine　seemed　strangely　staggered；　as　if　there　were　more　than　one。　Over　the　drone；　he　could　hear　a　diesel　pulling　up　beside　the　building；　the　chatter　of　onlookers。　Idly；　he　leaned　forward　to　glance　out　the　window。　What　he　saw　caused　him　to　jump　from　his　seat。　
　Two　massive　helicopters　were　beating　up　from　the　west；　ing　in　low。　They　sported　amphibious　hulls；　and　Coast　Guard　logos　were　emblazoned　on　their　sides。　They　slowed　into　a　hover　just　beyond　the　marina's　no…wake　zone；　huge　airfoils　beating　the　sky。　A　large　pontoon　boat　dangled　from　one　of　them。　Below；　the　water　was　being　whipped　into　a　frenzy　of　whitecaps。　Houseboats　were　rolling　heavily；　and　pink…skinned　bathers　were　gathering　curiously　along　the　concrete　apron。　
　Briggs　grabbed　his　cellular　and　ran　outside　onto　the　shimmering　tarmac；　punching　up　the　number　for　the　Page　air…control　tower　as　he　lumbered　along。　
　Out　in　the　baking　heat；　an　additional　surprise　awaited　him：　a　huge　horse　trailer　parked　at　the　ramp；　same　as　before；　SANTA　FE　ARCHAEOLOGICAL　INSTITUTE　stenciled　on　one　side。　As　he　watched；　two　National　Guard　trucks　pulled　in　behind　it。　Ranks　of　guardsmen　scrambled　out　of　the　rears；　traffic　barriers　in　hand。　A　murmur　came　up　from　the　crowd　as　the　pontoon　boat　was　dropped　from　the　helicopter　with　an　enormous　splash。　
　His　phone　chirruped；　and　a　voice　sounded　through　the　tiny　speaker。　〃Page；〃　it　said。　
　〃This　is　Wahweap！〃　Briggs　screamed　into　the　telephone。　〃What　the　hell　is　going　on　at　our　marina？〃　
　〃Calm　yourself；　Mr。　Briggs；〃　came　the　unruffled　voice　of　the　air…traffic　sup