dk.intensity-第80部分

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　to　be　a　revolver。
　Already　she　had　released　the　emergency　brake。　Now　she　shifted　the　motor　home　out　of　park。
　Standing　tall；　appearing　cool　and　unhurried　but　nevertheless　nimble…fingered；　Vess　plucked　a　speedloader　from　the　dump　pouch　on　his　gun　belt。
　Thanks　to　her　mother's　criminal　friends；　Chyna　knew　all　about　speedloaders。　Before　Vess　could　reload；　she　took　her　foot　off　the　brake　pedal　and　stomped　the　accelerator。
　Move；　move；　move。
　Slipping　the　speedloader　into　the　revolver　and　twisting　it；　Vess　looked　up　almost　casually　when　he　heard　the　roar　of　the　motor…home　engine。
　Chyna　drove　onto　the　pavement　as　though　she　intended　to　sweep　past　the　patrol　car　and　away；　but　she　was　going　to　run　the　freak　into　the　ground。
　Vess　dropped　the　speedloader；　snapped　the　cylinder　shut。　Afraid　that　Ariel　might　look　up；　Chyna　shouted；　〃Stay　down；　stay　down！〃　She　ducked　her　own　head　just　as　a　slug　smacked　off　the　window　frame　and　ricocheted　back　through　the　vehicle。
　She　raised　her　head　at　once；　because　the　motor　home　was　on　the　move；　and　she　needed　to　see　what　she　was　doing。　She　swung　the　wheel　to　the　right；　heading　for　Vess　at　the　open　door　of　the　patrol　car。
　He　fired　again；　and　she　seemed　to　be　looking　straight　down　the　bore　of　the　barrel　when　the　quick　flame　flared。　She　heard　a　strange　hissing…throbbing…buzzing；　not　unlike　the　lightning…quick　passage　of　a　fat　bumblebee　on　a　summer　afternoon；　and　she　smelled　something　hot；like　singed　hair。
　Vess　dived　into　the　car　to　get　out　of　her　way。　The　motor　home　smashed　into　the　open　door；　ripping　it　away；　maybe　taking　off　one　or　both　of　the　hateful　bastard's　legs　as　well。
　The　fragrance　of　gunfire　always　reminds　Sheriff　Vess　of　the　stink　of　sex；　maybe　because　it　smells　hot　or　maybe　because　there's　a　trace　of　the　same　ammonia　odor　in　gunpowder　that　is　stronger　in　semen；　but　no　matter　what　the　reason；　gunfire　excites　him　and　gives　him　an　instant　erection；　and　when　he　leaps　into　the　car；　he　lets　out　an　exuberant　whoop。　The　roar　of　the　motor　home　is　all　around　him；　bearing　down　on　him；　the　headlights　blazing；　as　much　tumult　as　if　he　were　in　the　middle　of　a　close　encounter　of　the　third　kind。　As　he　dives　for　safety；　he　yanks　his　legs　in　after　himself；　knowing　that　this　is　going　to　be　close；　damn　close；　which　is　what　makes　itfun。　Something　raps　hard　against　his　right　foot；　cold　wind　rushes　in　around　him；　the　driver's　door　tears　off　and　clatters　end　over　end　along　the　blacktop　as　the　motor　home　shrieks　past。
　The　sheriffs　right　foot　is　numb；　and　although　he　feels　no　pain　yet；　he　believes　that　i4might　have　been　crushed　or　even　torn　off。　When　he　sits　up　in　the　driver's　seat；　holsters　his　revolver；　and　reaches　down　with　one　hand　to　feel　for　the　expected　stump　and　the　warm　gush　of　blood；　he　discovers　that　he　is　intact。　The　heel　was　torn　off　his　boot。　just　that。　No　worse。　The　rubber　heel。
　His　foot　is　numb；　and　his　calf　tingles　all　the　way　to　the　knee；　but　the　sheriff　laughs。
　〃You'll　pay　for　the　shoe　repair；　you　bitch。〃
　The　motor　home　is　two　hundred　feet　from　him；　heading　south。　Because　he　never　switched　off　the　engine　when　he　pulled　onto　the　shoulder　of　the　highway；　he　needs　only　to　release　the　hand　brake　and　shift　into　drive。　The　tires　kick　up　a　storm　of　gravel　that　thunders　against　the　undercarriage。　The　black…and…white　lurches　forward。　Hot　rubber　shrieks　like　babies　in　pain；　bites　into　the　blacktop；　and　Vess　rockets　after　the　motor　home。
　Too　late；　distracted　by　his　numb　foot　and　recklessly　eager　to　get　his　hands　on　the　woman；　he　realizes　that　the　big　vehicle　is　no　longer　heading　south。　It's　reversing　toward　him　at　maybe　thirty　iles　an　hour；　even　faster。
　He　slams　his　foot　down　on　the　brake　pedal；　but　before　he　can　pull　the　wheel　to　the　left　to　get　out　of　the　way；　the　motor　home　crashes　into　him　with　a　horrendous　sound；　and　it's　like　hitting　a　rock　wall。　His　head　snaps　back；　and　then　he　pitches　forward　against　the　steering　wheel　so　hard　that　all　the　breath　is　knocked　out　of　him；　while　a　dizzying　darkness　swirls　at　the　edges　of　his　vision。
　The　hood　buckles　and　pops　open；　and　he　can't　see　a　damn　thing　through　the　windshield。　But　he　hears　his　tires　spinning　and　smells　burning　rubber。　The　patrol　car　is　being　pushed　backward；　and　though　the　collision　dramatically　slowed　the　motor　home　for　a　moment；　it's　picking　up　speed　again。
　He　tries　to　shift　the　black…and…white　into　reverse；　figuring　that　he　can　back　away　from　the　motor　home　even　as　it's　pushing　at　him；　but　the　stick　first　stutters　stubbornly　in　his　hand；　clunks　into　neutral；　and　then　freezes。　The　transmission　is　shot。
　As　bad：　He　suspects　that　the　smashed　front　end　of　the　car　is　hung　up　on　the　back　of　the　motor　home。
　She's　going　to　push　him　off　the　highway。　In　some　places　the　drop…off　from　the　shoulder　is　eight　or　ten　feet　and　steep　enough　virtually　to　ensure　that　the　patrol　car　will　tumble　ass…over…teakettle　if　it　goes　over　the　edge。　Worse；　if　they　are　hung　up　on　each　other；　and　if　the　woman　doesn't　have　full　control　of　the　motor　home；　she'll　most　likely　roll　it　off　the　road　on　top　of　the　black…and…white；　crushing　him。
　Hell；　maybe　that's　what　she's　trying　to　do。　She's　a　damn　singularity；　all　right；　in　her　own　way　just　like　him。　He　admires　her　for　it。
　He　smells　gasoline。　This　is　not　a　good　place　to　be。　To　the　right　of　the　center　console　and　the　police　radio　（which　he　switched　off　when　he　first　saw　the　motor　home　and　realized　that　it　was　his　own）；　a　pump…action　2o…gauge　shotgun　is　mounted　barrel…up　in　spring　clips　attached　to　the　dashboard。　It　has　a　five…shell　magazine；　which　Sheriff　Vess　always　keeps　loaded。
　He　grabs　the　shotgun；　wrenches　it　out　of　the　clips；　holds　it　in　both　hands；　and　slides　left　from　behind　the　steering　wheel。　He　bails　out　through　the　missing　door。
　They're　reversing　at　twenty　or　twenty…five　miles　an　hour；　rapidly　gaining　speed　because　the　car　is　in　neutral　and　no　longer　resisting　the　backward　rush。　The　pavement　es　up　to　meet　him　as　though　he's　a　parachutist　with　huge　holes　in　his　silks。　He　hits　and　rolls；　keeping　his　arms　tucked　in　against　his　body　in　the　hope　that　he　won't　break　any　bones；　fiercely　clutching　the　shotgun；　tumbling　diagonally　across　the　blacktop　to　the　shoulder　beyond　the　northbound　lane。　He　tries　to　keep　his　head　up；　but　he　takes　a　bad　knock；　and　another。　He　weles　the　pain；　shouting　with　delight；　reveling　in　the　incredible　intensity　of　this　adventure。
　Chyna　was　watching　the　side　mirror　when　Edgler　Vess　sprang　out　of　the　patrol　car；　slammed　into　the　blacktop；　and　rolled　across　the　highway。
　〃Shit。〃
　By　the　time　that　Chyna　braked　to　a　full　stop；　crying　out　at　the　flash　of　pain　in　her　bitten　foot；　Vess　was　sprawled　facedown　on　the　far　shoulder　of　the　roadway；　three　hundred　feet　to　the　south。　He　lay　perfectly　still。　Though　she　didn't　believe　that　the　tumble　had　killed　him；　she　was　sure　that　he　must　be　unconscious　or　at　least　dazed。
　She　wasn't　capable　of　running　over　him　while　he　lay　insensate。　But　she　wasn't　going　to　wait　around　to　give　him　a　sporting　chance　either。
　She　buckled　into　the　bination　shoulder　and　lap　belt。　She　suspected　that　she　was　going　to　need　it。
　As　she　shifted　into　drive　and　started　forward；　she　became　aware　of　a　sharp　stinging　along　the　right　side　of　her　head；　and　when　she　put　a　hand　to　her　scalp；　she　discovered　that　she　was　bleeding。　The　passing　bumbl*ee　buzz　had　been　a　grazing　bullet；　which　had　burned　a　shallow　furrow　about　three　inches　long　and　a　sixteenth　of　an　inch　deep。　Any　closer；　it　would　have　taken　off　the　side　of　her　skull。　This　also　explained　the　faint　smell　of　burning　that　she'd　briefly　detected：　hot　lead；　a　few　singed　hairs。
　Ariel　was　sitting　up　in　a　sparkling　mantilla　and　shawl　of　gummy　glass。　She　gazed　out　through　the　missing　windshield　toward　Vess；　but　she　was　blank…eyed。
　The　girl's　hands　were　bleeding。　Chyna's　heart　leaped　at　the　sight　of　the　wet　blood；　but　she　realized　that　the　wounds　were　only　tiny　cuts；　nothing　serious。　The　safety　glass　couldn't　cause　mortal　injury；　but　it　was　prickly　enough　to　nick　the　skin。
　When　Chyna　looked　at　Vess　again；　he　was　on　his　hands　and　knees；　two　hundred　feet　away。　Beside　him　lay　a　shotgun。
　She　tramped　on　the　accelerator。　A　hard　clunk　at　the　back　of　the　motor　home。　The　vehicle　sh